Notes from Juilliard
by ClassicalGal
Summary: Genma's Daughter is five years older.
1. Chapter 1: Stranger in a Strange Land

Notes from Juilliard

By ClassicalGal

Once again, I'd like to express my deep appreciation to my prereaders: Nesin Evets, Nightelf, and Michael Chase. They gave me lots of excellent suggestions, and the story is better for it.

Formatting constraints here don't allow me to make realistic-looking emails, so please use your imagination. :-)

Chapter 1

* * *

><p><em>5,383.<em>

High above the Arctic coastline of Alaska, a pair of blue eyes watched a number on a screen grow steadily larger.

_5,387._

The cabin of JAL flight 006 was dark and quiet, save for the roar of the jet engines. Almost all the passengers were asleep, but for a handful: the night owls and the insomniacs. Their seats were islands of light in the darkness. The flight attendants circulated among them, moving softly to avoid waking the sleepers.

One of the wakeful few was a petite young Japanese woman with fiery red hair, whose eyes were focused on the status display showing on the main cabin screen. All sorts of information was popping on and off the screen: the aircraft's speed, its position, its heading, the outside temperature, the local time, the distance to the nearest land mass. The redhead only cared about one number.

_Kilometers from Tokyo, Japan: 5,395_

Everyone she knew, everyone she loved, her entire family, all her friends: they were all receding at around 1,000 kilometers per hour.

_Kilometers from Tokyo, Japan: 5,407_

Saotome Ranko closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window; she felt the cool plastic against her forehead, the vibration from the engines. She opened her eyes and looked out at the sparkling, bleak wasteland far below, bathed in perpetual twilight. _What am I doing here?_

When she'd been on the road with her father, they'd always been on the move. They'd rarely stayed in one place long enough for her to make friends. That was something she'd had trouble enough with anyway, being trapped as a boy due to Happousai's magic. Kuonji Ukyou and Hibiki Ryouga were the only two people who stood out from that part of her life.

Then they'd come to stay with the Tendous, and life had started to change. The biggest change had turned her life upside down: she'd discovered who she really was, and had resumed her life as a girl. After that, she'd actually started to make friends. Her family had expanded beyond her father to include her mother and her second family, the Tendous. She'd reconnected with Akane, the childhood friend who was more like a twin sister to her.

And in a twist of fate that had both of them still laughing and shaking their heads on occasion, she and Ryouga had fallen in love, and were engaged to be married.

She'd spent five and a half years putting down roots for the first time, strong roots. Now she was leaving it all behind, again. And this time, not even her father was with her.

_It's the chance of a lifetime, _she scolded herself. _You've been over it and over it. A chance to push your skills farther, to learn from the very best, to get the help you need. A priceless opportunity any performing artist would jump at. How could you ever turn it down? _Her heart recited the reasons: _Ryouga, Akane, Mom, Dad, Kasumi, Nabiki, Ucchan, Uncle Souun, Noriko, Miki, Shampoo, Cologne, Professor Murata… _She sighed. _You can call. You can e-mail. You'll be home for New Year's for two weeks. You'll be home for good in only nine months! Nine… whole… months… _She closed her eyes again, shutting out the view, as she absently fingered the heart-locket necklace she wore.

She should really be trying to sleep; everyone had told her that when going East, sleep was the best way to adjust to the eleven hour difference in time zones. That little number on the screen was keeping her awake, though. That, and the unknown world that was waiting for her when her flight landed.

Her senses alerted her to a presence nearby, and she sat up and turned to find one of the flight attendants smiling at her. Her badge announced her name, in Roman letters: E. Taneoka. "I thought you were asleep, Miss; I was about to turn off your light. Is there anything I can get for you?"

Ranko sighed and sat back in her economy class seat. She hadn't even considered business class; given her small size the extra room would have been wasted. She smiled ruefully. "I don't know. Can you get the pilot to turn around?"

Taneoka laughed. "I don't think so. Your first trip outside Japan?"

Ranko shook her head. "No, but it's my first time alone, and so far from home. Before this, I just went to China a couple of times with my father." _And now he turns into a panda when he gets wet, and my fiancé turns into a woman, but let's skip that part._

Taneoka hesitated. She was garrulous by nature and loved to meet new people, but normally wouldn't pry into a passenger's life. She'd actually gotten into a little bit of hot water once or twice by letting her enthusiasm get the better of her. Still, the girl seemed to want to talk. "How long will you be in America?"

The redhead sagged visibly, and Taneoka winced; she'd hit the jackpot on the first try. "Nine months."

Taneoka added up the facts and guessed. "Overseas study?"

Ranko blinked, surprised. "Yes, how did you know?"

Taneoka smiled. "You're going at the start of the American school year and coming back at the end." She clucked in sympathy. "Isn't it unusual for a high school girl like you to be going overseas by herself?"

Ranko laughed. "Actually, I'm twenty-one, this past March. I'm just on the small side." And she was: she'd only gained two or three centimeters in the last five years. She was still shorter than her mother. Akane, on the other hand, was now slightly taller than Kasumi; Nabiki was a touch shorter. All three towered over her, having inherited some of their father's height.

Taneoka blushed, and Ranko smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry, lots of people make that mistake."

The other woman nodded, still a little embarrassed. "Where will you be studying?"

Ranko's smiled faded, and her face grew somber. "The Juilliard School, at Lincoln Center in New York."

Taneoka bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be prying…"

Ranko shook her head. "No, really, it's OK." She giggled. "I've been driving myself crazy watching the distance pile up on the screen." Her eyes flicked to the screen for a moment: _5,484 kilometers from Tokyo, Japan. _She offered up a bright smile to the flight attendant. "I'm happy for the distraction, really. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

Taneoka beamed; she'd made the right decision, after all. For a moment her eyes scanned the cabin; a few more lights had gone out, and it looked like she could spare a couple of minutes before getting back to work. _I'll just take my break fifteen minutes early. _"Do you mind if I sit down?"

Ranko smiled, and shook her head. "Not at all, Taneoka-san. My name is Saotome Ranko, by the way."

Taneoka smiled. "I'm Taneoka Eimi, Saotome-san." She sat down in the empty seat next to the diminutive redhead. "What will you be studying, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Of course not. I'm studying the violin; I've been studying it for about five years now. I've been attending the Tokyo National University of Fine Arts and Music full time for the last three and a half years."

Eimi reddened. "I'm sorry, I think I've heard of both places, but I don't really know much about it. My taste in music runs towards pop." Ranko smiled and nodded. "So why are you going to Juilliard?"

"Professor Murata—he's my sensei—I think he's responsible for this. There was a professor from Juilliard who came to our school for a couple of months while on sabbatical, Professor Vasilev." Ranko enunciated the name carefully; it was hard for a native Japanese to pronounce. "He gave an advanced workshop which I attended, and the next thing I knew he and Professor Murata were plotting something. Then they went out drinking one night—a Japanese and a Russian drinking, now that's _really _dangerous—and when they showed up again the next day, they'd hatched this scheme to send me to Juilliard for a year." _Just like Father and Uncle Souun. _"It's a fantastic opportunity, and I really couldn't say no." She sighed.

Eimi watched her carefully. "But…"

Ranko smiled halfheartedly. "But this is my last year of school, and I wanted that to be with Professor Murata, at my own school. I wanted to graduate and see the cherry blossoms…" she trailed off, and her eyes lost focus.

Eimi tilted her head. "And…?"

Ranko grinned and blushed at the same time. "You really know how to read people, don't you?" Eimi shrugged in an elaborate display of modesty, and they both laughed.

Ranko's smile faded. "And, I'm going to miss my family, and my friends. And my fiancé."

Eimi's eyes went to Ranko's left hand; she hadn't noticed the modest ring before. She sagged in sympathy. "I'm sorry. This must be really hard on you." They both sighed. "When are you getting married?"

Ranko smiled nervously. "Three days after I get back."

Eimi's jaw dropped. "Wow… only three days?"

Ranko nodded. "We set the date before I knew about this. It was going to be two months after I graduated, but now it's just three days."

Eimi smiled knowingly. "And now you can't change it, right? You have to book those wedding places really far in advance."

Ranko nodded vigorously. "My father wanted to save money, but my mother insisted on having it at a wedding chapel. We had to reserve way in advance to get a good rate, and now it can't be changed." She sighed. "I'll be planning my wedding from 11,000 kilometers away."

She smiled sheepishly. "It's just as well, I guess—we've been engaged for four and a half years, and my fiancé has been _so _patient, and… and… I didn't really want to put it off again anyway."

Eimi giggled. "You're lucky he _wants _to get married. My boyfriend turns green when I even talk about it."

Ranko smiled quietly. "He's a sweet guy." Quite suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes.

Eimi bit her lip. "I'm sorry…"

Ranko dug in her purse for a tissue. "No, it's not your fault. I've been thinking about it for the last…" her eyes went to the screen again, "5,836 kilometers." She dabbed at her eyes.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a throat being cleared, and they both noticed the rather stern-looking middle-aged woman standing next to them; she, too, was wearing a flight attendant's uniform. "Taneoka-kun."

Eimi paled and shot to her feet, banging her head on the overhead luggage compartment in the process. She winced. "S-senpai?"

"What are you doing?"

"Umm, I decided to take my break fifteen minutes early, Senpai."

"And use it to pester the passengers again, I see." The older woman leaned over. "Has she been talking your ear off, Miss?"

Ranko smiled and shook her head. "No, she's been a great help, actually. I was feeling kind of lonely and far from home, and it was wonderful to have someone to talk to." She beamed at Eimi. "Thank you, Taneoka-san."

The older woman glanced between the two younger ones for a moment; then her own face relaxed into a warm smile. "I see. I'm glad Taneoka was able to help." Eimi sagged slightly in relief. "Taneoka-kun, we need an extra hand in the galley. Come along when you have a spare moment." She winked at the two of them.

Ranko and Eimi watched her glide off, then stared at each other for a long moment before bursting into muffled giggles.

Ranko sobered. "I'm sorry to get you into trouble."

Eimi shook her head. "No, it's my fault. I just love to meet people." She looked at her watch. "My break is over anyway. I'll stop by again later, OK?" Ranko smiled and nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, when Eimi passed by Ranko's seat, the young woman's head was leaning against the cabin wall, and her breathing was quiet and regular. Eimi smiled, pulled a blanket from the overhead compartment, and covered Ranko with it. She put a pillow between Ranko's head and the wall, raising an eyebrow when the redhead mumbled "Go 'way, Daddy. Don't wanna spar t'day." Eimi turned off the light, and moved on.

* * *

><p>"Saotome-san?"<p>

Ranko started and gasped, and opened her eyes. Bright light flared at the bottom of the not-quite-closed window shade. The pillow her head had been resting on slid down to the floor. She felt disoriented; her head swam. _Where am I?_

"Saotome-san?"

Still groggy, she turned her head to find Eimi smiling at her apologetically. "I'm sorry to wake you, but you said on your menu card that you wanted to be awakened for breakfast."

Ranko nodded sleepily—she _never _missed a meal if she could help it—and Eimi smiled again and moved off. The redhead looked around; the lights were on, and the cabin was full of noise and activity. Many windows were open, and sunlight was everywhere. She glanced at her watch; it was midnight in Tokyo. Her head spun from the contrast between her body's clock and the sunlight outside.

Her eyes went to the screen, but the status display was gone, replaced by a news program; she had no idea where they were or how many kilometers she was from Tokyo, Japan. If breakfast was just being served, though, then there must be a little while still before they landed.

She raised her window shade, and winced at the bright light that streamed in; fortunately, the sun seemed to be on the other side of the plane. She looked down and saw green hills with the occasional dark blue of a lake or gray ribbon of roadway. Her high school geography was a little hazy, but she knew Canada was north of the United States, and that New York City was in New York State. They must be over southern Canada or northern New York, or maybe New England. Beyond that she couldn't say.

She watched the terrain, fascinated. It was nothing like the area around Tokyo, but she could imagine that she was over northern Honshu. Then she noticed the tiny cars on a large highway far below: they were driving on the right side of the road. No, she definitely wasn't in Japan.

She felt a brief surge of anxiety, and ran through a calming exercise, blowing her breath out. She forced herself to remember her travels with her father: twelve long, hard years on the road. Sleeping in a bedroll on the hard ground or snow. Eating campfire rice most of the time. Traveling through China, not understanding a word of what was said around her. Having to take menial odd jobs to be able to afford even the rice.

Being a boy.

She'd only be at Juilliard for nine months. She'd be in a dorm room with another woman, with her own bed, and two and a half baths shared with her roommate and six other women in a five-bedroom suite. She'd be eating hot meals which she wouldn't have to prepare herself. There were other Japanese students she could talk to, and she'd get a chance to test the crash four-week immersion course in English conversation she'd taken in lieu of summer vacation. Thanks to her scholarship, she'd just have to work a part-time job to earn a little spending money, for clothes, movies, and the like. And best of all… she was herself.

She smiled. Compared to traipsing around Japan and China as Ranma with Father, this was going to be a piece of cake. Her anxiety faded. _I've just gotten used to being in one place, is all. And if I'm going to be a violinist, I can't spend all my time in Japan. This will be good for me. _She nodded to herself.

The cart carrying breakfast arrived, wheeled by two flight attendants, neither of whom were Taneoka-san. Ranko was a little disappointed; it was nice to see a familiar face, even if it was a new one. One of them smiled and handed her her breakfast: a smallish cheese omelet, a somewhat glutinous muffin, an unnaturally stiff banana, and orange juice. She set to eating, if not exactly with gusto. She soon felt better, though for someone who ate like her it was more like a snack than a meal. She would have preferred the Japanese breakfast choice, but she knew this would sustain her longer.

She waited impatiently for the tray to be taken away. When it was gone and the aisle was clear, she immediately got out of her seat and started doing some stretching exercises. Several of the passengers watched with interest as she stretched and contorted her body, at one point bending over and grasping her calves. She went into a vertical split, held it for a few moments, then stood up, turned around, and glared daggers at the middle-aged Japanese businessman who'd been observing her anatomy rather than her form; she'd spotted him ogling her while looking back through her legs. He had the good grace to grimace and look elsewhere.

She turned back towards her seat to find Eimi smiling at her. "Are you a dancer as well as a violinist?" She had a hopeful look in her eye.

Ranko laughed. "No, a martial artist, but there isn't enough room to do a kata in the aisle. I needed to work out the kinks—I've been sitting in that seat way too long."

Eimi's face fell just a bit. "Oh… I'm kind of into dance myself, and I was hoping…"

Just then a tone sounded and the seat belt light came on. The pitch of the engines went down, and the plane tilted down slightly. Eimi laughed. "I'm afraid you're going to have to get right back into that seat; we've just started our descent."

Ranko nodded reluctantly and sat down. "Thank you, Taneoka-san. It was fun having someone to talk to." She looked wistful.

Eimi bit her lip, and took a chance. Part of the reason she liked this job was the opportunity to meet people. That wasn't half as much fun if you said goodbye to them right away. "You know, since I work the Tokyo/New York route, I often have layovers here. The company has an apartment that we all share near the airport, and I'm usually here for a few days every other week."

She was rewarded when Ranko's face lit up. "Really?"

Eimi nodded. "I can give you my cell phone number later, if that's all right?"

Ranko nodded happily. "I'd love to get together with you again." She smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid I don't know an address or phone number yet, just that I'll be in the dormitory at Juilliard."

Eimi nodded, then spotted her senpai near the front of the cabin. "I need to get back to work." She smiled apologetically and hurried off.

Ranko smiled, then turned her gaze out the window. The ground below was looking much more populated now, with houses and highways everywhere. Ranko boggled at the huge number of single-family homes and how much land they each had; many had swimming pools. The rolling green of the land stretched out in all directions, nary a mountain in sight. In the distance, she could see a large river; they seemed to be flying parallel to it.

A video started on the screen, discussing U.S. Immigration and Customs procedures. Flight attendants passed up and down the aisles, handing out forms. Ranko sighed as she took her copies; she loathed bureaucratic forms. She'd had a very bad experience with them a few years ago. As she rolled her pen between her fingers, looking the forms over, she heard a throat being cleared. She looked up; Eimi was standing there, and handed her a slip of paper with a wink. Ranko giggled; she kind of felt like they were passing notes in class.

Halfway through filling out the forms, she got stuck on one question she didn't understand. In frustration she turned to look out the window, and gasped. Stretched out before her, in the middle distance, was downtown Manhattan. It couldn't be anything else; gigantic buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, like impossibly large building blocks. She'd thought herself a city dweller, but Tokyo was sprawling and flat, with only a few clusters of tall buildings here and there, like Shinjuku.

There was some of that here, too; directly below her must be the outlying parts of the city, and there were mostly small buildings and single-family homes. Though everything seemed… more spacious.

But Manhattan… suddenly Ranko understood where all the futuristic cities she had ever seen in movies had had their genesis. Manhattan reached for the sky, a profound statement by Mankind.

She watched the buildings, the bridges, the rivers, the highways, and the staggering numbers of cars, rapt, until the land suddenly fell behind and they were headed out to sea. Ranko blinked, then realized that they were going to circle around to land. She hurriedly turned her attention back to her customs form, referring to the Japanese instructions in her in-flight magazine.

Oh, OK: the form was asking for the total value of any goods she had acquired abroad and was bringing into the United States. She furrowed her brow. She'd aquired _all _of it abroad, of course; after all, that's where she lived! What a silly question to ask any foreigner!

She tried to estimate the value of the clothing and other possessions which were packed in a large steamer trunk in the cargo hold. Then there was the compact notebook computer in her backpack, which Nabiki-neechan had badgered her into getting, so she could communicate with her family back in Nerima without running up enormous phone bills. Oh, and she couldn't forget her Lott "del Gesù" violin.

She added everything up, then laboriously converted it into U.S. currency. She wrote on the form: "Total value: $61,000.00" She blinked; it didn't sound like much when you wrote it that way. She had a gown that was worth 60,000 yen (though she'd gotten it for free). She'd have to be careful shopping here until she got used to the difference in currency. Satisfied she was done, she put the forms in her backpack, put up her tray table, and resumed watching out the window.

The plane was quite low over the water now, and soon a runway loomed below them; Ranko watched, fascinated. This was only her second time on an airplane—the first had been a skiing trip to Hokkaido with Professor Murata and her fellow students—and she was not yet jaded by the wonder of such a heavy machine flying like a bird.

There was a screech as first one tire and then the others touched the ground, and the 747 immediately started to brake. As they slowed and began to taxi, Ranko noticed that even though it was an airport like Narita, it was… different. The vehicles had different shapes, and everything was labeled in English; there was no kanji or kana to be found anywhere. The ground personnel weren't Japanese. She spotted all sorts of skin and hair colors and faces that one rarely saw in Japan, and mused that here, her red hair would hardly be noticed.

She heard Taneoka-san's senpai voice over the PA system. "Welcome to New York City and John F. Kennedy International Airport." Ranko listened as the flight attendant ran through the usual details about the weather (warm and muggy), the local time (1:20 PM), the luggage procedures, and so on, first in Japanese and then in English. After a short while, she found herself lined up with the other passengers and filing out the door. She passed Eimi on the way, and they exchanged a smile and a goodbye. Ranko thought of the little slip of paper in her backpack, and resolved to look up the other woman soon.

As she walked out into the terminal, it finally hit her full force: this was not Japan. There were no Japanese here, except for her fellow passengers who were rapidly melting into the crowd of other international arrivals. The announcements over the PA system were all in English, and she struggled to make sense of them. While she'd been on the JAL flight, she'd still been surrounded by a little bubble of Japan, and now she'd left that behind. She adjusted her backpack, gripped her violin case a little more tightly, and set off to follow the crowd.

* * *

><p>After a good long walk through a maze of corridors, she arrived at Immigration. Ranko waited patiently in line—she <em>was <em>Japanese, after all—and when it was her turn stepped up to the immigration official, handing him her passport, with the attached student visa, and her forms. The man looked everything over, then looked up, eyeing her doubtfully, and spoke.

In English. And she hadn't understood a word he said.

She froze up momentarily in panic, then calmed herself. Summoning her four weeks of conversational expertise, she ventured, "Sorry, I no understand. Can you please speak slower?"

Surprisingly, the man looked relieved; she guessed he'd been expecting even less. He repeated, slowly, "You left out your U.S. address on your I-94 form. Where will you be staying?" He pointed to the offending lines.

She furrowed her brow as she processed that. "I no know address. I go to Juilliard School, in Lincoln Center." She added, "They have dor… dormitory. I live there."

The man checked her student visa; it did indeed list the school as the Juilliard School in Lincoln Center. He noticed the violin case in the tiny redhead's hand, and smiled. "I see. That's good enough." He typed for a while on his computer keyboard, watched the screen, then stamped her passport. "Enjoy your stay in the United States, Ms. Saotome." He'd pronounced it "Sow-too-mee." He handed Ranko's documents back and waved her on; she smiled tentatively and proceeded out the other side of the barrier, the next person coming up behind her as she left.

She'd passed the first milestone: she was now officially in the United States. She couldn't help smiling, for she and her father had not bothered with passports and immigration when they'd swum to China. This seemed a lot more… normal.

She came up to a mammoth luggage carousel surrounded by a sizable crowd of fidgety people, most of whom looked like they would much rather be visiting their dentist. Like them, she had to wait for her checked baggage (in her case, a large steamer trunk) to appear so she could proceed through Customs. After ten minutes or so, though it seemed much longer, the large black trunk finally popped out and slid down onto the conveyor with a loud _thump_. As it circled around towards her, she reached out a hand and made ready to grab it.

A young man with hairy, muscular arms stepped forward and blocked her way. He spoke in heavily accented English. "Hey, babe, let me get that for you."

Ranko struggled to make sense of the heavy accent, but got most of it. Especially the "babe" part. "No thank you, I get myself." She examined him; he towered over her like a giant. He had eyes as blue as her own set in a handsome face, lightly tanned skin, dark brown, wavy hair, and a day's growth of beard stubble. In contrast to his muscular arms, his fingers were long and slender. He was wearing a red cotton shirt with a button-down collar and chinos, and looked to be about her age. Actually, he was pretty cute…

The young man flashed a rakish grin. "A delicate little thing like yourself? I would not want you to hurt yourself." Ranko fumed as he manhandled her trunk off the conveyor and onto a nearby luggage cart, grunting at the weight. "My God, women don't travel light, do they?"

Ranko found herself wishing she didn't understand his English quite so well. He might have been cute, but he was grating on her like fingernails on a blackboard. She swallowed her pride. "Thank you, Mister…?"

The rakish grin reappeared. "Laurent. Jean-Pierre Laurent. You're welcome, Ms. Saotome." He pronounced it correctly.

She blinked. "How you know my name?"

He shrugged, then pointed at her trunk, which had "R. Saotome" stenciled on it in large white Roman letters. "Oh."

She put her violin case on top of the trunk, not noticing as he raised an eyebrow. She moved to push the cart off towards Customs.

He put a hand on the cart to stop her. "But that is my luggage cart, babe. We will have to share it." He grinned again. "Don't worry, I would be happy to escort you to your car. I think it is my responsibility, no?" The redhead glanced up at him, and he blinked; for a moment, it had looked like she was… glowing?

Ranko glared at him for a second, then nodded. "I very sorry. I no mean take your cart." She pulled her violin off again and put it on the floor. She took the handle of the trunk with both hands, and as Jean-Pierre's eyes bulged, flipped it around and up onto her shoulder, holding it perfectly balanced. It was not the heave of a stevedore, but almost like a graceful pirouette. His jaw hung slightly open.

She carefully bent her knees and picked up the violin with her left hand, balancing the trunk with her right, then slowly straightened up again. "You keep cart, so you can carry luggage. I would not want you to hurt yourself." She smiled sweetly, turned her back, and walked away.

Jean-Pierre goggled as the tiny Japanese girl, who was barely five feet tall and couldn't possibly weigh more than 100 pounds—if that—casually strode off carrying the huge trunk he'd struggled to pull off the carousel. He spun around as he saw his own luggage go by and made a grab for it, but instead fell face first onto the carousel. He let fly with some choice words in French, then hurriedly righted himself to watch the receding redhead. As he circled around, the other passengers staring at him, a smile slowly came over his face.

* * *

><p>Ranko sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall in the tiny office: 2:30 PM. She played back the scene in her mind, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. She'd stood in line in Customs, feeling rather uncomfortable as everyone else, for want of anything better to do, had stared at her and the trunk she carried. She'd spotted Jean-Pierre Laurent in another line; he'd been leaning casually on his luggage cart and grinning, and after their gazes met she'd averted her eyes, fuming.<p>

She'd finally reached the head of the line, put her trunk down, and handed her forms to the Customs official. He'd taken one look at her paperwork, and his jaw had fallen open. He'd called a coworker over, there had been a hurried conference, and she had been ushered into this room, where she and her luggage had sat for the last forty minutes. She shook her head; she had no idea what was going on.

She looked up when a balding, older man, with wire-rimmed glasses and a very tired expression, stepped in. "Ms. Saotome?" He pronounced it "Sow-toem." She bit her lip and nodded. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long." He pulled up the only other chair in the room, and withdrew some paperwork from a folder. He spent a few moments looking it over, then spoke carefully and slowly. "Ms. Saotome, I hope you'll understand, but we need to find out why you are bringing so much merchandise into the country when you have a student visa. It's kind of unusual."

Ranko blinked; had she understood that word correctly? "Merchandise? I no understand."

The man looked over the paperwork again. "You declared $61,000 in merchandise. Are you planning to sell all this or give it away as gifts?"

Ranko shook her head. "No, is just my own things: clothes, books, computer, things like that. The big part is my violin. It is $55,000."

His eyebrows shot up. "$55,000 for a violin?"

"Yes, it is 150 years old."

"What are you doing with such an expensive instrument?"

She blushed. "I come here to study violin at Juilliard School, in Lincoln Center. This violin is… loan to me by… by…" She wasn't sure how to translate "senpai." "…by another student my professor teached."

He nodded thoughtfully. "And you're planning to take all this home with you when you return to Japan? They're all your personal effects?"

She nodded. "Yes, it is all mine, so I will take home with me."

He sighed, shaking his head sadly. "Ms. Saotome, you shouldn't have declared any of this. You declare things when you buy them abroad, then bring them here to give to other people or to sell: when you import them. Your own personal posessions which you bring with you don't count if you're going to take them home."

Ranko sagged. "Oh." All that time waiting, because she hadn't understood the instructions. Not that they were all that clear. She definitely hated forms.

He smiled apologetically. "It's OK. Believe me, you're not the first visitor to make that mistake. I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long; I had some more serious cases to look at first." He stood up. "You can go now."

He held the door open, and his eyes bulged slightly as she hefted the huge trunk and maneuvered it through the door. He'd heard the story from his coworkers, but hadn't believed it…

Ranko made her way back out into the main Customs area, which was now mostly empty save for the Customs agents. She couldn't understand why they were all smiling at her, but she inclined her head to them and smiled back. The man who had let her out of the office waved her on, and she moved towards the exit. One of the agents held up a hand to stop her, and brought a luggage cart over; she smiled gratefully and lowered the trunk onto it. While she could carry it—she was using her balance more than her muscles—it _was _tiring, and the cart was more than welcome. After another round of smiles, she made her way out the exit…

…And stopped short; a familiar figure was standing there, next to a familiar luggage cart. "Well, well, Supergirl has been released from custody, it would appear." He glanced at the cart. "Ah, giving your superpowers a rest, eh babe?" He leaned forward conspiratorially. "What was it? Smuggling? I should have known you were too cute for them to throw in the slammer."

She didn't understand all of what he said, but didn't particularly care. She sighed. "Mr. Laurent. Why you here?"

He bowed. "As I told you, it is my responsibility to escort you safely to your car."

She closed her eyes for a long moment. "I no have car. Take taxi." Normally she'd take a train rather than the hideously expensive taxi, but not with her steamer trunk; it was too much of a hassle.

"Then I shall escort you to the taxi stand."

She sighed in resignation, and started pushing her cart. He scrambled to follow with his own. "And why are you here in New York, babe?"

"I going to school."

He nodded. "Ah. May I ask where?" His gaze went momentarily to the violin case.

She glared sideways at him. "No."

He smiled and shrugged innocently. "You can't blame a Frenchman for trying, eh?" She snorted and didn't reply.

They passed through the sliding glass doors at the front of the terminal's lower level, outside of which was the taxi stand. There wasn't a line at the moment—her sojourn in Customs had allowed her to miss the crowd—and Ranko waved to the driver of the first cab in line, a young Indian fellow. He got out and came around to open the trunk of the cab, then strained to lift Ranko's trunk off the luggage cart.

Ranko put her hand on the trunk and waved the driver off. "It OK, I put in." The man shook his head, confused; she couldn't possibly mean that, could she?

She did. Jean-Pierre enjoyed watching the cabbie's eyes bulge as Ranko repeated her earlier feat. "Why don't you save the fare and just fly there, eh babe?"

She glared at him as she maneuvered the heavy trunk into the back of the taxi. The driver shook his head, muttering, and closed the trunk. He opened the door for Ranko, and she climbed in as quickly as she could, still carrying her backpack and violin case.

She moved to close the door, but Jean-Pierre interceded and leaned in. She was getting to the point where she was itching to use her ki mallet, but he merely said, "It was very nice meeting you, Ms. Saotome. I hope we meet again some day. Good luck to you at your school."

The wind went out of Ranko's sails, and her anger ebbed. She felt slightly ashamed for having been so snippy with him; he was just saying a polite goodbye. She managed a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Laurent. Goodbye."

He backed off, and closed the door, waving through the window. Tentatively, she waved back. The taxicab pulled away from the curb and headed towards the airport exit; Jean-Pierre smiled warmly after it.

The taxi stand attendant asked, "Sir, will you be needing a cab?"

Jean-Pierre nodded, the smile never leaving his face.

* * *

><p>Ranko watched as her cab took off with a screech of burning rubber. The driver seemed to be in an awful hurry to leave, just as he had been in an awful hurry to get here. He'd weaved dangerously in and out of traffic on the way here, flooring the accelerator whenever he had a stretch of open road ahead of him, though Ranko hadn't said she was in any particular rush. The man had babbled the whole time about a band he was part of, and the world music they played. At least she thought that was what he had talked about; the rapidity of his speech, and his accent, had left her English skills scrambling to catch up. She'd paid him from her meager cache of U.S. currency, which had seriously depleted it. She'd need to find an ATM in the next day or two.<p>

She took a moment to look around and orient herself. She was standing in the middle of the cacophony at the corner of Broadway and 65th Street. The din of the traffic was nearly deafening, as cars, buses, trucks, bicyclists, and taxicabs thundered past. Ranko mused that despite being the center of serious music in New York, Lincoln Center's surroundings were hardly musical.

It was late on a weekday afternoon, the late August sun low in the sky, and the sidewalk was aswarm with pedestrians going about their business, talking and shouting and whispering and crying and laughing at each other. Ranko goggled at the sheer variety: here was humanity in all the shapes, sizes, colors, nationalities, and personalities that were available. It reminded her of the ostentatious shops in Ginza, showing off their assortments of exotic goods.

Most of them ignored her, but the occasional pedestrian spared her a passing glance: tiny Asian woman with vibrant red hair, perched on an enormous steamer trunk, wearing a rather large backpack and clutching a violin case. Their curiosity mildly piqued, they let it slip from their minds and moved on.

She'd had this feeling back home, of being a tiny speck in an ocean of humanity. But in Tokyo, nearly everyone was Japanese; she felt part of that ocean, a drop in the current. Here she felt like flotsam, borne by the current but apart from it, standing outside of the life and pulse of New York, invisible and apart. There was a part of her that couldn't grasp the fact that she was 11,000 kilometers from home, a part which expected that she'd wake up from this odd dream any moment now.

She'd been to an alternate universe once, where she'd met a male version of herself, but that had seemed familiar and close to home by comparison. _This _seemed like the true alternate universe: a bizarre, incomprehensibly different reality. It was somewhat overwhelming.

She sighed, and hefted her luggage once again. She needed to get settled in her dorm room; existential musings could wait. She turned around slowly, and spotted the broad steps leading up to a modern-looking multi-story concrete building, clearly marked: The Juilliard School. She set off, garnering rather more stares than she had before, now that she was _carrying _the trunk.

While walking with the trunk was mostly an exercise in balance, climbing stairs with it required actual effort, and her calves ached by the time she got to the top. She was starting to fixate rather single-mindedly on the moment when she'd finally be able to put the thing down and _unpack _it.

The revolving door wouldn't admit the trunk while being carried, so she used the regular door next to it, straining to pull it open while not losing her balance. As she stepped inside, the lobby security guard hopped up, his eyes wide, and hurried over. He was a middle-aged man of average build with a bald spot and a kind face.

"Good _God_, Miss, don't you want to put that thing down?"

Ranko sighed wearily. "Yes." She swung the trunk off her shoulder, using her leverage and balance to deposit it on the floor. She sat down heavily on top of it and hunched over slightly.

The man clucked sympathetically. "You must be a new student. I thought the high school division didn't start until next week, though."

Somehow it didn't seem quite as amusing as it had on the plane. "I am here for college division. I am twenty-one years old." She managed a small smile. "I just look as fifteen."

The man laughed nervously. "Sorry about that, Miss." He collected himself. "You can leave that thing here; I'll watch it. The Registrar's office is on the third floor."

Ranko nodded and stood up, and together the two of them pushed the trunk off to behind the guard's desk. "Thank you, Mr. …?"

"Jefferson. T-tom Jefferson." He braced himself ever so slightly in anticipation.

Ranko smiled a sunny, oblivious smile. "Thank you, Mr. Jefferson." She turned and left for the elevator.

Tom beamed after her. He _loved _the foreign students.

* * *

><p>"Swootuhmee, Swootuhmee…"<p>

Ranko blinked and shook her head, trying to overcome the torpor which had crept up on her. She struggled to focus her tired brain on the young woman in front of her, who was fiddling with a computer, all the while mangling her name in yet another imaginative way.

The woman—a redhead like herself, with freckles—looked up. "I'm sorry, Ms. Swootuhmee, but I can't seem to find you in our records."

Ranko felt her stomach drop into a void. Adrenaline accomplished what sheer force of will could not: she was wide awake. "Wh-what?"

"Do you have an admissions letter?"

Ranko nodded and hurriedly fished in her backpack. She pulled out a manila envelope and handed it to the woman, who pulled out the contents and scanned them with a critical eye. "Hmmm… this isn't an admissions letter…" She read further as Ranko held her breath. "Oh, I see. You're an exchange student." She turned back to her computer and fiddled some more. "Well, I still can't find you, but the letter has Professor Vasilev's signature, so I imagine we'll get things sorted out." She frowned.

Ranko's fingers drummed nervously on the counter as the other students behind her in line fidgeted impatiently. "Is problem?"

The other redhead chewed on a fingernail. "Well… I can't give you access to your dorm room if you're not officially a student. The computer doesn't know about you." She sighed. "I'd better call Professor Vasilev and have him come down here."

She punched buttons on her phone; Ranko listened in over the speaker as the other end rang. "Music Department, Andrea Martin speaking."

"Andrea? It's Jean in the Registrar's office. I have a new student here, a Ms. Rank-Oh Swootuhmee. She has a letter from Professor Vasilev saying she was admitted as an exchange student, and everything seems to be in order, but she's not in the computer."

"Jean, Peter's with a visitor right now. I don't know when they'll be done. They're already over by half an hour, so…"

Jean looked up, and her gaze softened when she saw the sad, exhausted, slightly pitiful expression on the petite Japanese woman's face. She turned back to the phone. "Andrea? This poor girl just flew in from Tokyo, and I can't get her into her room in Willson Hall until we get this straightened out…"

There was a pause. "All right, I'll let him know. I'll call you back, OK?"

"OK." Jean hung up, and turned back to Ranko. "Hon, why don't you sit down while we get this figured out?" She smiled sympathetically. Ranko nodded and shuffled over to plop down heavily in one of the chairs. "Next in line, please."

She was dozing lightly when the ringing phone jolted her awake. She listened as Jean picked up the handset: "Uh-huh… uh-huh… OK, I'll tell her. Thanks, Andrea. Bye." Jean smiled at her. "The Professor is coming over right now. He should be here in about ten minutes." Ranko sighed and nodded sleepily, the fatigue starting to overwhelm her.

She was dead tired, hungry, and depressed; she felt close to tears. All she wanted was to get to her room, write an e-mail to her family to tell them she was safe and missed them terribly, unpack a little, and get to sleep. Oh, and eat first. Definitely eat.

She glanced at her watch, and did the mental arithmetic: it was 5:30 AM in Tokyo. Akane and Father would be getting up to spar any minute now. She started to nod off again.

She sensed someone sit down in the chair next to her, and heard them clear their throat. She wearily straightened up and opened her eyes, and turned to stare into a pair as blue as her own.

"Hey, babe. Jet lag really sucks, no?"

Ranko was suddenly wide awake. "You… you follow me here?" Her body unconsciously prepared itself for action.

Jean-Pierre drew himself up and huffed, "Of course not! I am not some kind of stalker, you know." He smiled and held up a photo ID: _The Juilliard School, Music Division. Laurent, Jean-Pierre_. "I am a senior in the Music School. Piano." He winked at her. "I guess we will be making beautiful music together this year, eh?"

Jean-Pierre grimaced as Ranko started to cry.

* * *

><p>"You're kidding."<p>

"I would never kid you, Peter."

Professor Peter Vasilev raised one of his bushy eyebrows. He was a tall, lanky middle-aged man, balding up the middle, and spoke with a faint British accent. "No, of course not. A _herring_?"

"A herring."

"Would you mind telling me how that happened, Louis?" He peered at his visitor, a short, chubby, older man, with a full head of white hair and wire-rimmed glasses.

Louis Maastricht leaned back in his chair, and took his glasses off to polish them. "Well, Richardson was going on and on about playing three different instruments. You know how he is. He was a little drunk—hell, we all were—and he said he could play anything."

Peter rubbed his eyes. "This sounds familiar. So?"

"Well, Jacques just raises an eyebrow, and he deadpans, 'Have you ever played a herring?' in that thick accent of his. Everyone just broke up—which just pissed Richardson off, of course."

Peter smiled. "Jacques could piss anyone off. Just like his son. So what happened next?"

Louis grinned and leaned forward. "Richardson says, 'If it's possible to play a herring, I can do it.' Then Jacques handed him his appetizer." He snorted. "He _tried_, too. Couldn't get a sound out of the damned thing, of course, but he tried." Both men laughed.

There was a knock on the door, followed by a tall, middle-aged woman with curly brown hair and glasses. "Professor?"

"Yes, Andrea, what is it?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a problem at the Registrar's office with one of the new students. A Ms. Rank-Oh Swootuhmee, who just got in from Tokyo. They can't find her in the computer, and they can't give her her ID card or anything else until it's straightened out."

"Ah, so she's here!" He leapt up, coming perilously close to causing an avalanche in the tiny, cluttered office, and rubbed his hands together. "It's 'Ranko Saotome,' by the way."

Louis stood up as well. "Oh, that girl you've been telling me about?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, she's the one. Ichirou Murata's prize student." He turned back to Andrea. "You can tell them I'll be right over." She nodded and left.

Peter waved his hands excitedly as Louis collected his portfolio. "She's really something. She still has some things she needs to work on—that's why Murata sent her here—but I believe she has the potential to be a truly great violinist. And here's the best part: she had never touched a violin or any other instrument until five years ago, when she was 16."

"16? Now you're pulling _my _leg."

"No, no, I'm serious. Apparently it's because she's a talented martial artist as well; she's such a tiny little thing, but you wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen her do. She's been studying martial arts since she was four, and she's been able to use the control, discipline, and technique she learned from that to accelerate her study of the violin. Four months after she started she was playing Bach partitas."

Louis smiled. "She sounds fascinating. Mind if I tag along? I'd like to meet her."

"Not at all."

They set off out of the Music Department's offices, and down the corridor to the elevator. While they were waiting for it, Peter continued, "Talented as she is, there are still things she needs to work on. I'm not sure she got everything she needs from those martial arts. Still, I have high hopes for her."

The elevator came, and they rode it to the third floor, as Peter continued to expound on his new student. As they drew close to the Registrar's office, still deep in conversation, they heard a shout and a loud _thud_. The two men exchanged glances, and hurried their pace.

They burst through the door and found a young Japanese woman whose flaming red hair seemed to be matched by her mood. She was standing over another student, who was just sitting up on the floor and rubbing his shoulder. Everyone else watched, incredulous.

Jean-Pierre grimaced in pain. "That hurt, you know."

Ranko folded her arms, glaring all the while. "I no ask you put arm around me."

"I was just trying to comfort you a little!"

Peter cleared his throat, and everyone turned to face him. "What happened, Ranko-chan?"

Ranko flushed in embarassment. "I sorry, Professor. Mr. Laurent put his arm around me. I put him on floor."

The professor turned to the young Frenchman. "Jean-Pierre, you started hitting on her in the Registrar's office? Couldn't you at least have waited until she was settled in her room?"

Jean-Pierre shook his head indignantly. "I did _not _start hitting on her in the Registrar's office. What do you take me for?" He smiled amiably. "I started hitting on her at the airport when I saw the name on her trunk."

Ranko's jaw dropped. He'd known who she was all along?

Louis snorted and muttered, "He's Jacques' son, all right." Ranko's jaw dropped further. Jean-Pierre's father was Jacques Laurent? _The _Jacques Laurent, the famous cellist?

Peter smiled. "Jean-Pierre, I suggest you back off. She's already engaged, and she's a martial artist as well."

Jean-Pierre rubbed his shoulder again. "Yes, I found out about the martial artist part." He grinned at Ranko. "Eh, Supergirl?"

Ranko seemed to glow again. "No call me that."

Jean-Pierre cleared his throat. "I suppose not." He got to his feet, and the other students and the office staff went back to their business—or seemed to.

Peter stepped to the desk. "So Jean, Andrea tells me you can't find Ranko here in the computer?"

"Oh, is that how you pronounce it? Ran-ko? Sorry, Ms. Swootuhmee." Ranko closed her eyes momentarily. "I looked in all the databases."

Peter turned back to the diminutive redhead. "Ranko-chan, you did fill out the application form I mailed you, and mailed it back, didn't you?" Ranko nodded vigorously. "And you wrote your name in English letters, right?"

Ranko nodded again. "Yes, Saotome Ranko." Jean blushed slightly. Ranko spelled her name aloud: "S, a, o, t, o, m, e, R, a, n, k, o."

Jean frowned. "Is Saotome your given name?" This time she pronounced it more or less correctly.

"Given name? What is that?"

"Umm… your first name?"

Ranko blinked. "Yes, it is first. Saotome Ranko."

Peter interrupted, mercifully. "Saotome is her family name, Jean."

Ranko nodded vigorously. "Yes, is family name. Family name is first in Japan."

Jean's eyes widened, and she turned back to the computer. "Just a sec." She tapped the keys and scanned the screen, her brow furrowed. Then she jabbed a finger at the screen and smiled triumphantly. "_Here _you are. You must have written your name in Japanese order on your application; it's in the computer backwards." Everyone smiled in relief. Ranko rubbed her eyes. She _really _hated forms.

Jean typed rapidly. "There, I've got your name all fixed. You'll be sharing room number 2 in Suite 17C in Willson residence hall, with a Ms. Tish Williams. She's in the Acting School; she arrives tomorrow." She waved Ranko over to a chair set in front of a camera. "Just sit over there and I'll take your ID picture."

Ranko thought of her disheveled appearance and cringed. _Oh well, it's just an ID card_. She sat down as directed. The flash on the digital camera dazzled her, and a minute later a machine spat out a plastic ID card with her name and photograph on it, just like the one Jean-Pierre had shown her before. Except _her _photo looked like it came from the coroner's office.

Jean handed her the card. "Now, this is your access card to the residence floors and the school, as well as your ID, so don't lose it. The access here is all electronic; there aren't any keys."

Ranko nodded. She pulled her purse out of her backpack, removed her wallet, and slid the card into one of the pockets. With any luck she wouldn't have to actually pull it out and show it very often.

Jean handed her a thick envelope. "Here is your registration package. It has everything on the school, the campus, the academic program, the rules for the residence hall, how to access the Internet in your room, you name it." Ranko accepted the envelope and stuffed it into her backpack.

Jean beamed. "You're all set, Hon. You can take your luggage to your room and crash now." She winked. "Orientation starts Sunday, so you have a few days to get settled in and explore."

Ranko smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, Ms. Jean." Her stomach growled noticeably, and she flushed in embarrassment. "Umm, is there place I can eat dinner?"

Jean giggled. "You're signed up for the meal plan, so you can go to the cafeteria for dinner. It's on the plaza level of the Rose building, where Willson Hall is. It's the only tall building in Lincoln Center; you can't miss it. Just use your ID card."

Ranko nodded. "Is there place I can exercise?"

Jean nodded. "There's a fitness center on the 22nd floor of Willson Hall. It has all kinds of equipment."

"A place with open space?"

Jean sagged slightly. "I don't think so, Hon. You should check it out, but I don't think there's a lot of open space. It's all exercise equipment and a little aerobics studio." Ranko nodded, disappointed.

Peter spoke up. "I think I know what she wants, Jean. If the fitness center doesn't work out, she can probably use one of the dance studios in this building."

Ranko perked up. "I can use?" Her brow furrowed. "They have showers?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, as long as you do it in the evening or the early morning so it doesn't interfere with classes. You'll have to share it with the dance students, though."

Ranko smiled. "I no mind."

Louis piped up, "I have an idea. Why don't we all go out to dinner somewhere, to welcome Ms. Saotome to New York? I'd like to chat with her, and this way she can get a nice meal instead of cafeteria food." Ranko nodded, somewhat bewildered. Her stomach growled again, causing everyone to laugh as she blushed. "Well, I see her stomach agrees with me."

The professor added, "I'm sorry, Ranko-chan, with all the excitement I forgot to introduce my colleague here. Ranko Saotome, this is Louis Maastricht. He's the music director of the New York Philharmonic; they play across the street in Avery Fisher Hall." Louis held out his hand.

Ranko paled and swallowed nervously, and gingerly reached out her own hand to shake his. "It is great honor to meet you, Mr. Maastricht."

Louis smiled. "The pleasure is mine, my dear. Peter here has told me a great deal about you." Ranko studied the floor intently.

Jean-Pierre smiled broadly. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's eat, no?" The two older men looked at each other; Ranko just winced.

* * *

><p>"<em>Excuse me, I'd like another unagi!<em>"

The sushi chef grinned at Ranko. "_Sure thing, Miss. Coming right up._" He set about preparing her order. "_It sure is nice to talk to someone from back home._" Ranko smiled and nodded.

While Ranko bantered with the chef in Japanese, her three dinner companions eyed the stack of fourteen plates in front of her with no little incredulity. "My God," whispered Jean-Pierre, "where does she put it all? Dating this girl would cause a serious financial crisis."

Oddly enough, given that Ranko had just flown in from Tokyo, they'd suggested sushi, and Ranko had certainly had no objections to that. She loved sushi. Well, she loved just about anything… except pork. She'd been very fond of it, but these days she couldn't even look at it without thinking about P-chan. And that time Shampoo had nearly… ugh. Ryouga had a different curse these days, but the memories remained. Funny how falling in love with someone changed your perspective on things.

The others had stalled after a while, but she was still going strong. Louis was very glad Peter had insisted on picking up the check tonight. Peter wondered how the Juilliard cafeteria was going to keep up with his new student, and wished he'd remembered that time they'd eaten together in Tokyo _before _he had volunteered to pay for dinner. It must have been all that sake he'd had…

Jean-Pierre looked on as Ranko chatted with the chef. When speaking her native language, she was quite voluble and animated, and the angry glare had left her face, leaving a cheerful smile. _She's beautiful_, he thought, _but she's even more beautiful when she smiles_. He watched her quietly.

Ranko turned back to her dinner companions. "_Gomen nasai_… I mean, I sorry be rude, is nice to talk without fight for words."

Louis smiled. "Quite all right, my dear. So you've only been studying the violin since you were sixteen? That's quite amazing. It's because you've studied martial arts all your life?"

Ranko nodded enthusiastically, her mouth full of eel. After swallowing, she answered "Yes, since I am four years old. I study long time with father, and learn from Chinese Amazon old woman, also."

"_Chinese _Amazon? There is such a thing?"

"Oh yes, I meet them when we in China. Father and I, we go all around China and Japan on martial arts training trip, for twelve years." She turned back to the sushi chef. "_Could I have some tako, please?_" The man smiled and nodded.

Jean-Pierre smiled. "That is a very unusual life for a Japanese girl, no?"

The change was instantaneous: the smile vanished from Ranko's face, and she seemed to deflate slightly. Her body language was like a door slamming shut. Jean-Pierre winced.

She stared off into space, silent, and Peter remembered something Professor Murata had told him when they had planned Ranko's year at Juilliard: "_She had some traumatic experiences during her childhood. She's pretty much over it, but sometimes it catches up with her. And she's terrified of cats; be careful about that." _A quick change of subject was in order. "So you were able to translate these martial arts skills to play the violin?"

Jean-Pierre watched, rapt, as Ranko slowly relaxed, like a flower unfolding from a bud. "Yes, is very much same." She seemed to recover rapidly, and after a moment she went after the other piece of eel on her plate.

Louis frowned. "Really? I thought martial arts was about punching, kicking, that sort of thing."

Ranko tilted her head and thought as she swallowed. The octopus she had ordered arrived, and she reached for the plate. "Yes, but control of body and balance is very, very important. That is what work for violin." She attacked her octopus, and Jean-Pierre found the music from "Jaws" running through his head, unbidden. When she'd subdued it, she added, "Here, I show."

She took several of her spent sushi plates off the stack and arranged them. She took her chopsticks in hand, and seemed to concentrate for a moment. Then the others' jaws fell open as her chopsticks became a barely visible blur, spreading over the plates in front of her like a ghostly cloud. A moment later they were at rest, and she gestured at the one in the center, where a Japanese character made out of neatly placed grains of rice now sat. "That first character in my name, means… ahh… I don't know English word. Is kind of flower." She went after her other octopus as her dinner companions absorbed this.

Louis blew out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Yes, I can certainly see how that would be useful for playing the violin." Ranko beamed, her mouth stuffed with octopus. Jean-Pierre and Peter were still staring at the neatly drawn rice kanji on Ranko's plate.

Ranko's tower of plates topped out at sixteen with the octopus, and she settled back in her chair and sighed. "Thank you so much for dinner. I was very hungry." Louis and Jean-Pierre chimed in their thanks as well.

"Mmm," was all Peter could manage in reply. He signaled the waitress to come count plates so he could pay. She bustled over and set to work, raising an eyebrow when she came across the rice writing. She finished totaling their bill without comment. The professor looked it over, sagged slightly, and gave the woman a credit card.

Louis smiled at the young Japanese woman. "You're looking a little more energetic, my dear."

Ranko nodded. "Yes, it…" she glanced at her watch, "7 AM at Tokyo. I waking up again."

"Try not to stay up too late, it will make it harder to adjust." Ranko nodded and blushed at the fatherly advice. She could still scarcely believe she deserved this kind of attention from such distinguished people.

They were soon on their way, strolling back towards Lincoln Center. Louis bowed out shortly, hailing a taxi to take him back to his apartment. "Good luck at Juilliard, Ms. Saotome. I'm sure I'll hear great things about you." She blushed, and he turned to Jean-Pierre. "I'd tell you to stay out of trouble, young man, but I know it would be futile." Jean-Pierre gave a cheery nod, and they all laughed as the older man climbed into the cab and pulled the door closed.

They resumed their walk. After a block or so, Ranko asked quietly, "Professor?"

"Yes, Ranko-chan?"

"Why everyone know about me? Mr. Maastricht treat me like daughter even though we just meet. Jean-Pierre know me at airport just from my name."

Peter smiled. "Louis? That's just because he's one of the kindest men alive. As for everyone knowing you, I'm afraid you have me to blame for that. I've been telling everyone who would listen about your coming to study with me. You'd be surprised how many of them had already heard about you elsewhere."

Ranko was shocked. "Really?" Her face was tinged pink.

The professor nodded. "The world of classical music is very small, Ranko-chan, especially at the top. Everyone knows everyone else. Even though you're still a student and not performing professionally yet, people have heard about you. Word spreads rapidly." He grinned. "It's rather like a Japanese village, the way I understand it." Ranko laughed in spite of herself.

Jean-Pierre smiled. "I recognized more than your name, babe. Japanese redheads, they are not too common, no?" Ranko, her face still flushed, barely nodded in reply.

The mood was broken when Ranko stopped short next to a florist. "Ah!"

"What is it, Ranko-chan?"

She pressed her nose to the window. "That the flower!" She pointed. "Professor, what is English?"

Peter peered through the glass. "That's called an orchid. Why?"

"That flower in my name. 'Ran' mean orchid, 'ko' mean child." Peter nodded in understanding.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful flower," murmured Jean-Pierre. He was looking through the window, not at her, but Ranko was pretty sure he was not talking about what was for sale inside. He turned to find her eyeing him skeptically, her arms folded, but he only smiled enigmatically.

* * *

><p>Ranko double-checked her settings against the instruction sheet from her registration package one last time, crossed her fingers, and fired up her e-mail program. She watched the little icon bounce up and down; it was slightly hypnotic.<p>

Her notebook computer sat on the desk under her loft bed, and she bit her lip as she waited to see if she could communicate with her family. Around her was chaos: her trunk, open and half empty. The shipping box which had held the American-sized linens Nabiki-neechan had ordered to be delivered here. The scraps of paper that had been used to wrap the framed photo collage of her family, which now sat on her desk, watching her fiddle with her computer. She glanced over at them for the tenth time in as many minutes: Ryouga, her parents, the Tendous. In one corner was a larger version of the photo in her locket: she and Akane at age 4. As always, it brought a smile to her face.

Her e-mail program came up, and she tentatively pushed the button to check for new mail. Her face lit up in a huge smile when a tone sounded. "Hey, it works!" In her inbox were two new messages. The first was from the school:

_To: Ranko Saotome [rsaotome at juilliard dot edu]_

_From: Juilliard Technical Support [techsupport at juilliard dot edu]_

_Date: Thursday, August 26, 2004 5:00 PM_

_Subject: Welcome to Juilliard_

_Dear Student,_

_Welcome to Juilliard! This message has been automatically generated to test your new Juilliard e-mail account. All official notices from the School will be sent to this address, so please be sure to check it regularly. This account will remain active after you graduate, so feel free to give the address to friends and family._

_Should you have any difficulty with your e-mail account or any other Internet services while you are here, please contact the Office of Technical Services, at this e-mail address or at extension 5-7777._

The second one was the one she had been hoping for; it was in Japanese.

_To: Saotome Ranko [ranko at tendoudoujou dot co dot jp]_

_From: Tendou Akane [akane at tendoudoujou dot co dot jp]_

_Date: Thursday, August 26, 2004 9:38 PM_

_Subject: Hello from Home!_

_Dear Sis,_

_As I write this it's only a few hours after we've gotten back from seeing you off at Narita, and I still can't believe you're really gone. I keep expecting you to pop your head in my door any minute now, but I haven't seen any red hair all day! We all miss you terribly already. I'm doing OK, because I know you're coming back, this time. (You are coming back, right? Don't get too enamored of that ritzy New York lifestyle, or we'll have to come drag you home!) P-chan was moping the whole way home from the airport, though. ^_^_

Ranko smiled. It had been two years since Ryouga had finally confessed to Akane about his former porcine double life. This had led to a truly awe-inspiring demonstration of master-level ki mallet technique; Ranko would have been taking notes if she hadn't been busy trying to save her future husband's life.

When all was said and done, however, he was as much a member of the family as Ranko herself, and after a week of cold shoulders and the occasional mallet, Akane had finally forgiven him. Her sister grew angry easily, but simply couldn't hold a grudge for long in the face of sincere contrition. Ranko, to her own surprise, had been forgiven immediately due to her honor-bound promise.

The only lasting effect was that while Ranko called her fiancé "Ryouga" these days, Akane had started calling him "P-chan." Ryouga had accepted it with good grace as the leniency it was.

_If you're reading this, then you must be all settled into your dorm room at Juilliard._

Ranko looked around at the mess and snorted.

_I hope everything has gone well today, and that you've already started having fun. Please write when you get a chance, and let us know that you're safe and sound. We'll see you at New Year's._

_Love,_

_Your sister, Akane_

_P.S. P-chan sends his love, too. He really misses you. Nabiki-neechan is going to take him shopping for his own computer soon so he can write to you._

The screen blurred and Ranko sniffled as she reached for a tissue. After she had dabbed at her eyes, she started to compose a reply.

_To: Akane Tendou [akane at tendoudoujou dot co dot jp]_

_From: Ranko Saotome [rsaotome at juilliard dot edu]_

_Date: Thursday, August 26, 2004 8:55 PM_

_Subject: Re: Hello from Home!_

_Dear Sis,_

_I made it here in one piece and am knee-deep in unpacking. I'm sending this from my brand-new Juilliard e-mail address._

_I miss all of you, too. I wish_

She stopped typing, and her gaze went to the portraits on her desk. She stared at them for a long minute; then her hand went to the telephone. She lifted the handset and began to dial; she'd requested international calling in her room, and it seemed to be working. She couldn't afford to do this every day, but tonight, she needed to hear their voices.

After a long delay, she heard the phone begin to ring. It was 10 AM there, and she hoped everyone was still home. Nabiki would be off to work already, but Akane and Kasumi were still on summer break through tomorrow. Oh right, today: it was Friday in Tokyo.

"Hello, Tendou residence."

A tension she hadn't even been aware of relaxed. "O… Oneechan? It's me."

She heard Kasumi shriek, "Ranko?" Then, muffled, "Everyone! It's Ranko! She's calling from New York!" Kasumi's voice returned full force. "Ranko, Dear, how are you? Was your flight OK? Is your room OK? Are they treating you well? You poor thing, you must be exhausted!"

Ranko closed her eyes and smiled. "I'm fine, Oneechan. Everything is fine. I really miss all of you. I got Akane's e-mail, and I… I just wanted to hear your voices." She yawned. "Yes, I am exhausted, but I'll be going to bed soon. It's only 9 PM here."

"Akane and our fathers are here now, Dear, so I'm going to use the speakerphone." The sound from the other end took on a hollow quality. "There, can you hear us?"

"Just fine, Oneechan. Hi everyone!" There was a chorus of responses.

Akane's voice came. "It's nice to hear your voice, Sis."

Ranko smiled, and her eyes grew wet again. Suddenly, Tokyo didn't seem quite so far away. "Same here."

"How was your flight? Did you get any sleep?"

"A few hours. I'm really tired." She paused; her exhaustion made it hard to think. "Thank you for the e-mail; it was nice to have it waiting when I got here. I started to write back to you, then I just felt like I wanted to talk to you, and put off writing till the morning."

"Well, we shouldn't keep you up if you're that tired. Why don't you give us the details in your e-mail?"

Ranko nodded, though she was alone. "OK, I will. The day went OK. I met some interesting people, and had dinner with Professor Vasilev and the music director of the New York Philharmonic." Her tone darkened. "And an obnoxious boy."

Akane chuckled. "I'd love to hear about that, but you should go to bed. Be sure to write, though, OK? And don't forget to put in your phone number."

"I will, I promise. Right after my workout tomorrow morning."

Genma's voice came. "Have you found someone to spar with, sweetheart? It's important to keep up your training."

Ranko laughed. "I just got here, Father. Not yet. I'll look for someone, I promise. I may have to make the rounds of the local dojos." She grinned. "After all, I don't want to be a pushover for Akane when I get back!"

"You, a pushover? Sis, don't be silly. I'm not _that _much better than you, and I train a whole lot more." It was true: a year ago, Akane had surprised them all by announcing that she wanted to continue the Tendou dojo after graduating college, rather than pursue an acting career. She'd been training hard for it, and as a result had finally surpassed her sister. Ranko felt a twinge of regret at having surrendered her place as the best martial artist in the family, but she was happy with her choices in life.

She smiled. "Thank you, Sis."

"How's your English holding up?"

"OK, I guess. I can usually understand what they're saying. It's hard to find the words sometimes, and I'm sure I sound the way Shampoo used to when she was learning Japanese. It's kind of embarrassing. Now I know how she must have felt."

Akane laughed. "You ought to write to her and tell her that, she'd get a kick out of it. You'll get there, Sis. I was amazed at how much progress you made during your intensive course this summer. All you need is some practice."

"I hope so." Ranko yawned again. "I guess I should go. I still have to call Mother and Ryouga."

Kasumi's voice returned. "Don't stay up late, all right?"

"I won't, Oneechan. I promise." She hesitated. "Goodbye, everyone. I love you all."

"I love you too, Sis." "Me too, little sister." "Take care, sweetheart." "Be well, child."

Ranko smiled a wet smile. "Goodbye." She hung up. Not very expensive, and well spent. She resolved to do this at least once a week, and for more than a few minutes.

She dialed again, and waited as the phone rang. It picked up, and she opened her mouth to speak.

Her mother's voice came. "Hello, this is the Saotome residence. I'm sorry I missed your call. Please leave your name and a telephone number and I will return your call promptly." There was a tone.

"Mother? It's me. Everything went fine and I'm calling from my dorm room. The number for my room here is… umm, you have to dial international, then 1 for the US first… umm, then it's 212-555-7945. I don't have an answering machine yet, I guess I'll go get one soon. I'll write an e-mail tomorrow to Akane, so you can get all the details from her. I love you, Mom. Goodbye." She hung up and sighed.

One last call to make. She dialed, and waited.

Luck was with her; a young man's voice answered, "Hello, Hibiki residence."

Something warm blossomed in her heart. "Ryouga? It's me."

There was a long pause. "Hey." Ranko could hear the happy smile from the other side of the planet. "Everything OK?"

"Uh-huh. The flight was fine, and I had no trouble getting here. There was a mixup with my registration but they got it straightened out. The room is OK. I had dinner with my professor and a friend of his, who turned out to be the music director of the New York Philharmonic. And this obnoxious French student who's been hitting on me all day."

There was a snort. "Does he know you're engaged?"

"He does now. It didn't stop him."

"Figures. Just beat him up if he gets too fresh."

"I already did, once. We'll see how fast a learner he is." They both laughed. "Akane told me Nabiki-neechan is taking you shopping to buy a computer?"

"Dragging me kicking and screaming, more like it. I dunno, I guess I can give it a try. It'll probably help for writing papers at school, too. Hope I don't break it by accident. Oh, hey, gimme your phone number. Just a sec, I need to get a paper and pencil."

Ranko waited until he was ready, then gave him her phone number and new e-mail address. "Send me mail when Nabiki-neechan gets you hooked up, OK?"

"I will."

There was a long pause. "I'll try to call every week. I'll call you, OK? It's a lot cheaper calling from here than from there."

"OK." A pause. "You know… you've only been gone a day and I'm already counting the days till New Year's."

"Me too." Another long pause. "I love you. I miss you, lots. I wish you were here."

"I miss you too, honey." A pause. "I'm really looking forward to next June. To being with you every single day. To seeing your face when I wake up every morning."

Ranko looked around her empty room and was suddenly overcome; a tear tracked down her face. She already missed the feeling of his arms around her. "Yeah… yeah, me too." Her eyes settled on his photograph; it smiled at her, and she felt her mood brighten a little, and smiled back. She yawned again, loudly. "I'm sorry, I'm really tired. I haven't gotten a lot of sleep in the past 24 hours."

"You _sound _tired. Why don't you hang up and go to bed, OK? I won't mind, honest."

Another yawn. "All… all right." She sighed, her eyes still on his photograph. "I'll call you again Sunday morning your time, OK? That's the day after tomorrow." A pause. Quietly, "I love you."

"I love you, too. More than anything."

There was a long silence. Finally, Ryouga's voice came, gentle. "Hey… you OK?"

"Yeah." She rubbed her eyes. "Really, I am."

"Ranko…"

Her voice firmed. "I'll be fine. I promise."

"I know you will. Hang in there, honey. I'm only a phone call away if you need me; you can call me any time, even the middle of the night. And remember, Saotome Ranko doesn't lose."

She smiled. "I know." She sagged slightly, and added softly, "I'll talk to you Sunday. Bye."

"Bye." There was no click: he was waiting for her. Slowly, unwillingly, she replaced the handset in its cradle. She stared at it for a few moments.

She looked around her silent room and sighed a long, heavy sigh. Her martial arts training had preprared her for any threat or challenge life had to offer—except those of the heart. It was no help there.

Suddenly, a tidal wave of fatigue washed over her, and she was very glad she had made up her bed earlier. She'd have to finish unpacking and clean up the mess in the morning, before her new roommate showed up.

She closed the notebook computer and put it to sleep; she'd finish her e-mail tomorrow. She changed into her pajamas, and shuffled out into the common living area of the five-room suite. There were three doubles and two singles, for a total of eight women. She was looking forward to meeting all of them. She thought one of the others must have arrived today, too, as the door of one room was closed, but the woman must have gone to bed before Ranko had even returned from dinner. Maybe she was even more jet-lagged.

Ranko went to brush her teeth, then returned to her room. She set her alarm clock for 6 AM, turned out the light, and climbed into her loft bed. She tried to sort out the faint traffic noises from seventeen stories below, but in a few seconds she was fast asleep.

* * *

><p>End Chapter 1<p>

Thursday, December 22, 2005

**Copyright Notice **

The characters and stories of Ranma ½ are Copyright © Rumiko Takahashi, and are used here without permission or license.

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.

This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.

This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Ranma ½ characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Ranma ½ as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

All original characters and story elements expressed herein are Copyright © 2002-2005 by the author.


	2. Chapter 2: Song Without Wings

Notes from Juilliard

By ClassicalGal

Chapter 2

* * *

><p>Ranko cracked open the door to Studio 3A, and looked around. She smiled in satisfaction; the room was large, and had a high ceiling. Perfect. She'd had one look at the fitness room in Willson Hall, and had turned back to the elevator; a mouse couldn't do martial arts in there.<p>

There were mirrors and a bar along one wall, and light from the just-risen sun peeked in through the tall, narrow windows. She had the studio to herself; in fact, other than the pedestrians she'd passed while walking across the plaza from the Rose building to Juilliard, she hadn't encountered another human being yet this morning.

She put her purse on a chair and shucked her sweats, revealing her leotard; she no longer wore the silk clothes she'd favored for so long. Since Kasumi had finally started college at her sisters' prodding, they had all been pitching in with the household chores, and Ranko had finally learned just how much of a burden her laundry needs had been for her eldest sister. The silk clothes had to be washed by hand, every single day. She couldn't believe Kasumi had never said anything about it.

Once she'd learned the truth, her silk clothes had been retired except for dressy nights out, and she'd sought more practical workout clothes. She'd tried a gi again at first, like she'd worn on the road with her father, but found it a little constricting. The leotard was a good compromise between freedom of motion and practicality.

She padded out into the center of the studio and started warming up, eyeing the clock on the wall: 6:15 AM. There was no shrine to bow to, so she bowed to the rising sun, barely visible down the canyon of 65th Street. She moved on to her katas, and immediately lost herself in the Art.

Without a sparring partner, she'd really need to push herself, and so she launched into her most advanced and difficult katas, moving through each one with the precision and grace born of a lifetime of practice. When she was done, she moved on to free-form exercises. She conjured an imaginary opponent, and went all out. Kicks, punches, sweeps, flips; she pulled out every move in her arsenal, save her limited repertoire of ki moves—she didn't want to cause any damage. Her opponent went on the offensive, and she launched a furious Chestnut Fist, repelling the attack and pressing her own.

She and her nonexistent rival moved to aerial combat; Ranko bounced off the walls, attacking in mid-air. A fine sheen of sweat developed on her brow and arms as she careened around the studio.

She drew forth a ki staff, a variation on Akane's ki mallet that she had developed herself, and went through a couple of minutes of armed combat. It had the disadvantage that it took a constant drain on her ki reserves to maintain it—unlike the mallet, which came and went in a matter of moments—but it was very handy to be able to pull a weapon out of nowhere, even if it was just a staff. She could maintain it for two or three minutes before it started to tax her.

Finally, after using her staff to vault over her imaginary opponent's head, she allowed it to dissipate, went into another furious series of punches and kicks, flipped head over heels back into a corner, and bowed, finished. She glanced at the clock and smiled: 7:16 AM. She'd timed herself perfectly.

She blew out her breath; that had been an intense workout, but it had been sorely lacking in one important respect: an imaginary opponent could never, ever surprise you. She badly needed to find a real person to spar with. She turned towards the chair where she'd left her sweats and purse…

…and found a group of three women and one man sitting on the chairs by the side of the room, watching intently. They were all wearing leotards, they were all about her age save for one woman in her thirties, and they were all staring at her, their mouths making little round o's. She'd sensed them entering the room earlier, but her mind had been focused on the Art and she'd forgotten they were there.

Ranko blushed slightly. "Uhh… good morning?"

The others shook themselves out of their daze, and responded "Good morning." They rose and started going through stretching exercises. Ranko realized they were probably dance students, here to practice just as she was. The older woman came over to speak to her.

Ranko spoke first. "I sorry, I in your way?"

The woman shook her head, smiling. "No, not at all. What was that you were doing just now?"

"Is martial art, called Kenpo, or Kung Fu."

"Do you do this every morning?"

"Yes, I must practice every day. I can go some other place."

"There's no need for that. You're not in the way at all. We were all just admiring your performance, is all." She shook her head again. "You know, I had a boyfriend once who loved Hong Kong action movies. He always dragged me to see them, and I always used to rib him about how impossible all the stunts were. I guess I owe him an apology the next time I see him; what you did made those movies look like child's play." She stuck out a hand. "I'm Sarah Edelman, by the way. I'm a professor in the Dance division."

Ranko offered her own hand, and they shook briefly. "My name is Sao… Ranko Saotome. I student of Music Division, with Professor Vasilev."

Sarah smiled, her eyes crinkling. "So you're one of Peter's students? Too bad; I was hoping I'd get a chance to work with you this year after watching you in action."

Ranko blushed. "Thank you. I think when I young that I be martial arts teacher, but I decide like music better. I play violin."

Sarah nodded. "Well, if you ever want to try some dance, just let me know."

Ranko laughed. "All right." She looked around at the students. "You teach class now?"

"No, the school year hasn't started yet. But some of my students are here on campus already, and dancers need to practice every day, too." She smiled. "Even the ones who teach." They both laughed. "It was nice meeting you, Ms. Saotome." She waved goodbye, and went off to start warming up herself.

Ranko waved back, and went over to collect her things. She looked around, but there were no showers to be found; Professor Vasilev must have been mistaken. She put her sweats back on, grabbed her purse and went to the door. She paused a moment to observe the dance students as they moved through their own exercises, then smiled and left.

* * *

><p>Ranko sighed a contented sigh as she rode the elevator back up from the cafeteria. After showering and blow-drying her hair, she'd changed into jean shorts and a tank top, and put her hair up, as it looked to be a rather warm day in the making. She'd headed down to the cafeteria, where she'd had a satisfying if unspectacular breakfast. The food was nothing special, but it still beat what she'd eaten on the road with her father… not to mention her twin sister's cooking. The portions had been really small, though, and she'd had to go back for fourths before she was done.<p>

She walked into her suite, and found that the door that had been closed last night was now cracked open. She peeked in, and found the room in about the same state of disorder as her own, and unoccupied. She hoped she'd get a chance to meet the occupant soon. She briefly imagined spending the whole school year this way, missing each other and never meeting, and laughed.

She headed back to her own room, and set about unpacking in earnest. The clothes went in drawers and in the closet; she was careful to take only half the available space. Her violin and music stand went next to her desk. She was getting a little old for dolls, but she'd brought one with her: Kasumi, the rag doll from her childhood. She would never, ever outgrow Kasumi. She was ensconced in a place of honor on Ranko's bed.

Her music books and notebooks went in the desk drawers. She hadn't brought any supplies, preferring to buy them here rather than haul them from Japan. No CD's or novels, either: Nabiki-neechan had helped her transfer her favorite music to the notebook computer's ample hard drive, and she planned to practice her English reading skills by buying books here. If she was going to be a professional violinist and travel around the world, she was going to have to be fluent in English, simply because it was the only language the world had in common.

In less time than she would have thought possible, the trunk was unpacked, everything was put away, and her room was looking… depressingly bare. She sighed. Art… knick-knacks… posters… _something. _She needed to go shopping, soon, to make it look a little less like a monk's cell.

She wrestled the trunk out into the living room; it would be picked up and put into storage later in the day. She headed back to her room to finish her e-mail to Akane.

She spent a half hour chronicling her flight and the friend she'd made, her encounter with Jean-Pierre at the airport, her misadventures in Customs, and all the other things that had transpired yesterday and this morning. When she was done, she read it through again, corrected a few errors, then sent it off, hoping Akane would keep up her end of the correspondence. Perhaps if she wrote every day, her sister would, too. She continued to stare at the screen for a moment; while she'd been writing, she'd been talking to her sister. Now, Akane was 11,000 kilometers away once more.

She closed the lid on her computer, and sat back in her chair. The room was deathly quiet, save for the faint rumble of the building ventilation system and the traffic noises coming in the window. There were none of the sounds she was used to, of the life of a large family. Her gaze wandered around, and landed on the clock on her desk: 9:47 AM.

Now what?

She sighed; once school started, she'd have plenty to keep her busy: classes, practice, performances, school activities, a part-time job. At the moment, though, she had no idea what to do with herself. She needed to practice today, but planned to do that after lunch, as she preferred to work straight through when possible. The residence hall had two soundproof practice rooms on each floor; she had only to walk out her suite door when she wanted to use one of them.

Maybe she should get started on her chores and errands? She got out a piece of paper and wrote in English:

To-do List

Not at home telephone machine

Posters, Art

Find ATM

Find ice cream store

Find book store, music store

Find job

Get bank account

Find martial arts practice partner

That last gave her an idea; she got out another sheet of paper:

Wanted: Practice partner for martial arts

Must know Kenpo, Kung Fu

Must be at least black belt, tenth dan

Contact Ranko Saotome, extension 5-7945

It was a long shot to find someone that advanced among the student body at Juilliard, but it was worth putting a sign up just in case.

She grabbed her purse, her to-do list, and her sign, and headed back downstairs. She emerged in the lobby to find Tom Jefferson, the security guard.

She smiled. "Hello, Mr. Jefferson. You are here today?"

He smiled back and nodded. "Yes, Ms.… Saotome, isn't it?" She nodded. "I'm usually here in this building; yesterday I was filling in for someone."

She held out her to-do list. "Mr. Jefferson, can you maybe help me find some of these things? I would be very happy." She smiled.

Tom Jefferson was a nice guy to begin with, but a smile from a beautiful girl never hurt, either. "Sure thing, Ms. Saotome. Let me see…" He looked over her list. "There's a big bookstore chain on the other side of Broadway; they have posters and CDs, too, so I think that will take care of those. There's a CitiBank branch at Amsterdam Avenue and 67th street, a few blocks away. A lot of the international students like them, because they have lots of branches overseas." He jotted that down on her list. "Ice Cream…" He scratched his chin. "How often do you eat ice cream?"

"Very often."

He grinned. "Well, you won't want to go to the fancy places downtown, then; you have to take the subway to get there. There's an OK place across the street, next to the bookstore." She nodded.

He frowned. "'Not at home telephone machine'? Do you mean an answering machine?"

"Uhh… is machine that record message when not at home."

"That's called an answering machine. There are places on 47th street that are really cheap, but they only take cash, and they can be hard to deal with."

Ranko shivered; she remembered the dickering Nabiki-neechan had engaged in when they'd gone to Akihabara to get her computer. No thanks. "Is there cheap place that is easier?"

"Sure, there's a place down near Wall Street. Do you have a subway map?" She shook her head, and he reached into his desk and pulled one out. "Now, we're here—" he pointed, "and this place is down here—" he pointed again. "You have to go to the 66th Street station, and take the number 1 train on the Seventh Avenue line down to Park Place. It would be faster to change trains but since this is your first time on the subway…" She nodded.

His eyes traveled downwards on her list. "Martial arts practice partner? I'm afraid I can't help you there." He smiled, and she smiled too. "And a job… the school can help you. Just go to the Student Life office, and they'll help you find something."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Jefferson! You big, big help."

"My pleasure, Ms. Saotome."

She inclined her head to him, and headed off to the laundry room with a cheery wave. She found the bulletin board, and started collecting unused push pins.

A male student came over from his seat next to the dryers and read her ad as she tacked it up. "Must be _at least _a black belt, tenth dan? I thought that was as high as it went?"

Ranko just smiled, and left.

* * *

><p>Ranko fumed as she sat on the number 1 train, waiting to get to 66th Street. Like the Tokyo subway, the New York subway went everywhere, was convenient, and had a train every few minutes. Unlike the Tokyo subway, it looked old, was not sparkling clean… and in some places, it <em>smelled<em>. She wrinkled her nose. No men in immaculate uniforms with white gloves dispatching trains here.

Also like the Tokyo subway, there was no shortage of guys eager to ogle you, or occasionally try to feel your butt. She was glad she was female, but there were some aspects that, to be blunt, sucked. This was number one, edging out her "monthly visitor," as Kasumi-neechan liked to put it.

She noticed that while she was getting the usual number of lewd stares, she wasn't getting anything in the way of fondling attempts. She'd thought that looking 16 years old would stop the creeps back home, but underage girls seemed to be a preferred target if anything. Maybe things were different here.

And so she sat, clutching the flimsy plastic bag holding her newly purchased answering machine (which, she'd noticed with some amazement, cost about half what the same Japanese brand did back home), and silently endured four separate guys undressing her with their eyes at the same time.

A young man in a business suit sat next to her, rather closer than he should have given the empty space on the train; she sighed. He grinned, and slid over closer. A moment later, he expelled his breath sharply, and slid away, grimacing. Ranko retracted her elbow.

The train slowed and pulled into 66th Street station, and with a sigh of relief she got up and got off. All in all, that hadn't been too bad an errand. She had quite a bit of the cash she'd withdrawn left over, too, since the price had been so much lower than she'd expected.

She climbed the stairs from the subway into bright sunlight and humid heat; the weather reminded her of home. She strolled slowly down Broadway, enjoying the alien sights and sounds of New York City, feeling rather less disoriented than she had the previous afternoon. She looked in the shop windows, watched the pedestrians going about their business, listened to the noise of the cars and buses, caught glimpses at the intersections of Central Park a few blocks to the east.

She got to 65th Street and crossed over Broadway to the large chain bookstore Mr. Jefferson had mentioned. She pushed her way through the revolving door, and immediately hit a wall of frigid air. She spent a minute reading the store map hanging near the entrance, then headed for the art department.

Since it wasn't a specialized art store, it didn't have a huge collection, but she hoped it would suffice. She headed for the posters, looking for something to tack up on the cinder block wall over her bed. They were arranged in a rack, packed together so tightly that you had to wrestle with them a bit to get a good look.

She flipped through them, one after the other: nature photos, abstract art, a few Impressionists, Andy Warhol, old movie posters. She was just thinking that one of the nature photos she had passed earlier might be OK when she stopped short, her jaw slightly open. Slowly, a smile crept over her face.

She'd found a spectacular poster-size photo of Mount Fuji in Autumn. Just what the doctor ordered for a homesick Japanese girl. Spring and cherry blossoms would have been better, but she wasn't about to complain.

She withdrew the poster from the rack, took some of the mounting supplies sitting on a shelf above the posters, and headed for the register. The room could use more than one piece of art, but this was a good start. As she stood in line, on impulse she snagged a copy of the New York Times, too. She wasn't normally a newspaper person, but thought it would be a good way to learn more about her home for the next nine months.

She handed over a little bit more of her cash hoard, and headed out the door into the muggy heat with a strong sense of accomplishment. She'd just spent the morning navigating the New York City transit system, stretching her English skills, and shopping in a foreign currency, and she'd managed pretty well, all in all. She stepped forth lightly as she crossed Broadway with the other pedestrians, suddenly feeling like maybe she fit in, after all. Ranko Saotome, New Yorker?

She hurried her pace as she crossed the plaza, as it was getting close to one o'clock and she was starving. She had signed up for the 19 meal weekly plan because it was the most offered, but if they'd had a 28 meal plan she would have signed up for that. She decided to head straight for the cafeteria rather than drop her purchases in her room first; she didn't want to wait to ride the elevator up to the seventeenth floor and then back down again.

She pushed through the cafeteria doors, and the aromas brought a smile to her face. As she got in line with her tray, she noticed that the same lady who had served her that morning was now doling out sandwiches; their gazes met, and the woman smiled. She wondered why, until she got to the head of the line and pointed at the tuna salad sandwich; the woman promptly handed her two of them. Ranko looked up at her, surprised; her gaze was met with a knowing, affectionate smile.

She smiled back. "Can I maybe have one more, please?"

* * *

><p>Ranko frowned, and flipped the page back to the beginning of the Paganini Caprice number 24 in A minor. This piece was a perfect illustration of her problem. It was simple for her to play it perfectly… but it still didn't come out the way she wanted, the way it should. It was too sterile, too dull. For her to add life to it was exhausting work, and only partly successful.<p>

Thanks to nearly five years of study, she was exercising her knowledge of music theory rather than the brute force of her martial arts skills. It wasn't just a sequence of notes any more, like the grains of rice she'd written her name with; she could see the structure of the music she played, the framework hidden beneath the surface. She'd played endless scales and exercises to train her body to play on that level, to the point where it was nearly automatic; her mind was freed up for interpretation and artistry.

But that was exactly the problem. Technically, she was superb, but she had difficulty infusing her music with emotional content. Her playing had the cold, hard brilliance of a polished gemstone. Paradoxically, when she'd been just starting out and making plenty of mistakes, she'd been far more successful at conveying feeling. Somehow, while perfecting her playing, she'd thrown the baby out with the bathwater. And she had no idea how to find it again.

Her problem was less noticeable with highly structured music such as the Baroque or early Classical repertoire, but the more emotional, passionate, or wild the music, the more she ran into trouble. Her renditions of anything from the Romantic period onward especially, while perfectly adequate, were just that: adequate. That was not the level she aspired to.

Even with Bach, her early success had left her unprepared for the difficulties she had in trying to convey a deeper interpretation of his music. In that enormous ocean, she felt like she was just an oblivious tourist wiggling her toes in the surf.

All her considerable skill would be worthless if she couldn't move her audience with her playing. She knew that she would not reach her full potential if she didn't solve this problem. She had been extraordinary as a beginner… but she wasn't a beginner any more. Now, she had to prove herself as a performer in a much more critical arena. Many a prodigy had fallen by the wayside trying to move beyond mere technical mastery.

Having discovered her gift so late in life, she was determined to make the most of it, and she was convinced that she had a ways to go yet. She _knew _she could do better than this. She just didn't know _how_.

That was a big part of the reason she was here in New York. Professor Murata had hoped that the finest music school in America could help her through the roadblocks that were frustrating her. New York was the center of the violin world, and to New York she had come, in search of inspiration.

She considered playing the Caprice one more time, but she was starting to feel tired. She glanced at the clock on the wall of the practice room, and gaped; it was already 6 PM! She needed to quit—practicing while fatigued was worse than futile. The jet lag wasn't helping, either; she felt like she'd been up all night.

She packed her violin back in its case, and let herself out of the soundproof practice room. The door to her suite was open, and from inside came the noises of busy activity. Ranko smiled; at least she'd have some company now.

She stuck her head in the door and looked around. Mystery Suitemate appeared to be out at the moment, there was a steamer trunk not unlike her own sitting in the middle of the living room, and sounds were coming from two of the bedrooms. One of them was her own.

First things first. She went to the door of her room, and found it nearly filled up by two people and a number of boxes.

One was a tall young woman about her own age, wearing a purple t-shirt and blue jeans. Her skin was the color of chocolate; her black hair was back tight in a bun, and gold wireframe granny glasses rested on her elegant nose. She had a refined air about her, and her large brown eyes spoke of a deep, hungry intelligence.

The other was an even taller, wiry middle-aged man; his skin was the same color, and his close-cropped hair was shot with flecks of gray. He was wearing slacks and a white dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up. He shared the same penetrating, scrutinizing gaze, and wore glasses as well. They both turned when they noticed her standing in the doorway.

Ranko smiled nervously. "Hello, my name Ranko Saotome. I am with this bed," she pointed. "I guess we are roommate. I very pleased to meet you."

The young woman and the man exchanged a smile, and she came over to stand before Ranko. Loom over her was more like it; she was much taller even than Akane, and the older man was a veritable giant. Ranko reached out her hand in anticipation.

The young woman eyed Ranko's proffered hand for a moment, and her face assumed an oddly familiar passive expression. She clasped her hands in front of her, and said in flawless, unaccented Japanese, "_My name is Tish Williams._" She bowed at a precise forty-five degree angle, held it a moment, then straightened up. "_I'm very pleased to meet you._" Ranko's jaw dropped. She suddenly recognized the facial expression: it was standard procedure for a refined Japanese lady when meeting a stranger.

Ranko scrambled to recover and hurriedly bowed in response. "_Your… your Japanese is excellent, Tish-san!_"

Tish politely held a hand over her mouth and tittered, as any traditional young Japanese lady would. "_Oh, no, please don't say that. I'm so embarrassed!_" Ranko's eyes bulged.

There was the sound of a throat being cleared, and both women turned to the man. "Stop showing off, honey."

Tish switched smoothly to English, her manner shifting abruptly from Japanese lady to American woman. "Sorry about that." She switched to a nasal voice: "Paging Dr. Williams, paging Dr. Williams. Please report for introduction." The older man stepped forward, sparing an irritated glance for Tish. "Saotome-san, this is my father, Dr. Joseph Williams."

Ranko eyed the man warily until he held a hand out; then she reached out her own and shook it. His handshake was firm but carefully gentle. "I very glad to meet you, Dr. Williams."

"And I you, Ms. Saotome. When did you arrive?"

"Yesterday, I come from Tokyo."

"I must say, you're a dream come true for Tish. She's always looking for victims to practice her Japanese with. Or should I say, on?"

"Daddy!" scolded Tish.

A wry grin split his face. "Well, it's true, isn't it?"

Tish sighed. "I've only just met you, and I've already been found out." She bowed again. "_Sensei, please…_" Her father cleared his throat again, and she switched back to English. "Sensei, please help me practice my Japanese."

Ranko smiled. "OK, but two condition."

Tish raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"One, you must help me practice English. My English much worse than your Japanese." She bowed. "Please?"

Tish brightened. "I'll do my best. And the other?"

Ranko grinned. "You no call me 'Sensei.' Not call 'Saotome-san,' either. Must say 'Ranko.'"

Tish smiled warmly. "Sure thing. 'Ranko' it is."

Ranko smiled a moment, then noticed the clutter. "I sorry, please go ahead and unpack. I go to cafeteria for dinner, get out of way."

Dr. Williams shook his head. "You're not in the way. I was going to take Tish out for dinner in a little while; would you like to come along?"

Ranko never, ever turned down a dinner invitation if she could help it. "I would be very happy, Dr. Williams. Thank you so much." She put her violin case next to the desk, her books back in the desk drawer, and leapt up onto her bed, where she sat cross-legged to watch. "Now I not in way." She smiled.

Dr. Williams blinked. "You're quite an athlete, Ranko. That was some jump." Ranko blushed and smiled, and watched as Dr. Williams and his daughter returned to unpacking.

Unlike herself, Tish had brought her belongings in cardboard boxes and one suitcase; she couldn't have traveled by airplane. "You live in New York?"

Dr. Williams responded as they shuttled clothing into the closet. "No, Boston. Cambridge, to be exact. I drove Tish down today, and I'll be driving back tomorrow."

Tish added, "We used to live in Manhattan, but we moved to Boston at the beginning of my last year of high school." Her voice sounded just as cheerful as it had earlier, but it seemed a bit… hollow.

"Why you move to Boston?"

Dr. Williams seemed to suddenly become embarrassed. "I, uhhh, took a new job."

Tish sniffed. "How very modest of you, Fahhthah. Fahhthah was offered a proh-fessahhship at the Haahhvahd Medical School." Ranko shivered slightly; Tish was somehow reminding her of Kunou Kodachi.

Ranko didn't know much about American schools, but she had heard the name before. "Oh, that very famous, no?" Dr. Williams just continued to look embarrassed. "You are doctor?"

He recovered his aplomb somewhat. "A psychiatrist, actually."

Ranko frowned. "What is a 'psychiatrist'?"

"A doctor who treats illnesses of the mind." Ranko nodded in understanding; she knew the concept, but hadn't known the English word.

"But we're all crazy in our family," added Tish. "The cobbler's children go barefoot, right?" and in a lower voice, "Right." Normal voice: "Shhh! He'll find out about you." Lower voice: "He already knows." Ranko laughed, though she had no idea what a cobbler was, and Dr. Williams rolled his eyes.

Ranko was still smiling. "Who else in your family?"

"My crazy family? Just me, Dad, and my little brother Thomas." Both the Williams' faces grew somber, even as they continued unpacking boxes.

Ranko bit her lip. "I am sorry…"

Dr. Williams shook his head. "No, it's all right. I've been divorced for many years now." Ranko noticed that the passive expression had returned to Tish's face.

The conversation stalled, and Ranko watched as Dr. Williams unloaded dog-eared volumes of Shakespeare, Ibsen, Aeschylus, O'Neill, Chekov, Monzaemon, and the like onto Tish's shelves. Tish was loading her drawers with the clothing and other items that didn't go in a closet.

Dr. Williams cleared his throat. "How about you, Ranko? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Ranko smiled. "Kind of yes. My parents have no more children, but our family has other friend family, very close. Three daughter, all like sister to me. Youngest and I like twin sister; we grow up together." She peeked over the edge of the bed and pointed down at her desk. "There are pictures."

Tish and Dr. Williams paused a moment from their labors to peer at Ranko's photo collage. They smiled at the photo of two little girls with their cheeks pressed together. "This must be you and her, right?"

"Yes, her name Akane Tendou. In family picture she next to me, tallest woman. Older sister Nabiki with short hair, oldest sister Kasumi with long hair. Their father is tall man with long hair and… uhhh… hair on mouth. Their mother dead many years ago, very sad."

Dr. Williams nodded. "That's called a mustache, by the way." He pointed. "This woman wearing the kimono looks a lot like you. Your mother?"

"Yes. My father man with glasses, wearing gi." Dr. Williams noted that Ranko's parents were not standing next to each other. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Tish grinned. "And who's this cute guy here, wearing a bandanna? He seems to have an arm around a certain redhead." She and her father turned away and went back to their unpacking; they were nearly done.

Ranko blushed. "He is Ryouga Hibiki, my… uhh… man I will marry. I don't know English word."

Dr. Williams smiled. "Your fiancé? When are you two getting married?"

"June, soon after I go home to Japan." She smiled a very happy smile that said far more about her fiancé than any words could.

"Wow, this is a big year for you. Have you known him a long time?"

Ranko nodded. "Since… ahh… school before high school."

"That's called junior high school." Dr. Williams smiled. "Childhood sweethearts, eh? That's nice, you've been together a long time already. That's a good start for a happy marriage."

An image flashed unbidden through Ranko's mind: bandanna-clad boy in junior high uniform, wielding umbrella and screaming "_Ranma! Prepare to die!" _"We not in love at beginning. We fight first, for a few years." She smiled, bemused, at the memories.

Tish snorted. "Usually it's the other way around." Dr. Williams looked embarrassed again, and Ranko shifted uncomfortably on her bed.

After a few moments, Tish's father remarked, "I take it from the instrument that you're a violinist?" Ranko nodded. "What does your fiancé do?"

"He is martial artist. When graduate from university, he teach at dojo. I also martial artist, think I be teacher when young, but like violin better." She smiled.

Dr. Williams and Tish had put the last of her items away, and were collapsing the cardboard boxes and stacking them against the wall. "A martial artist? Really?" He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I did some of that to stay in shape, when I was in the Air Force." He smiled sheepishly. "I never got very far, and I've forgotten most of it. I play tennis these days. How about you?"

Ranko had her own sheepish smile. "I also stop doing martial arts as much. I still practice every morning one hour, but not as good like before. Then I practiced every day many hour."

While her father folded the last of the boxes, Tish took a cardboard tube from her desk and waved it at Ranko. "Wait until you see what I've got here." She withdrew a poster from inside and unfurled it with a flourish, holding it up for Ranko's inspection. "_Ta-daa! _Mt. Fuji in Spring—with cherry blossoms!" She grinned. "Well?"

She scratched her head as Ranko burst out laughing. "What's so funny?"

* * *

><p>12:37 AM.<p>

Ranko wished she hadn't looked down at the clock on her desk. She sighed and rolled over on her back again, resuming her contemplation of the ceiling. Last night she'd been exhausted, and sleep had come quickly and easily. Tonight she was merely tired, and a part of her was loudly insisting that it was the middle of the day—time to get up and do things, lazybones! She wished she could use her ki mallet on it and get it to shut up.

She glanced over at the other loft bed; Tish was sound asleep. No jet lag between Boston and New York. Behind Tish was her poster of Mt. Fuji in Spring, serenely regarding its equally serene twin across the way, Mt. Fuji in Autumn. Neither of them saw fit to share any of their serenity with Ranko.

Her mind drifted back over her evening; she'd had fun. She and the Williamses had left the room, on their way out for dinner, and had been waylaid by three of their suitemates. The other women had insisted that a pizza party was just the thing for them all to get to know one another, and Tish and her father had readily agreed.

They'd chatted while waiting for the pizza delivery, and Ranko had finally met Mystery Suitemate: Harya Prakash, an oboist from Bangalore, India who'd been struggling with severe jet lag for the last couple of days. Ranko reflected sadly that she'd be able to commiserate much more readily tomorrow. Harya was about Ranko's height and had long black hair; Ranko was delighted to find someone she could look in the eye without craning her neck.

Then there was Megan Johnson, a pretty, blonde soprano from Houston who spoke with a thick accent Ranko had some difficulty understanding. Ranko thought she would make a perfect Brunhilde, but wondered what Wagner would sound like with a Texas twang.

The third woman was Megan's roommate, Susan Burnes, also a soprano, from Edinburgh, Scotland who spoke in a soft burr and was equally incomprehensible to Ranko, and to Megan as well. Tish was amused at having to serve as interpreter on occasion. Susan was a redhead as well, although of a much darker, smokier shade than Ranko, and with freckles to boot.

The three other women were freshman and a bit younger. One double and one single room still stood empty; the remaining three women were returning students and wouldn't be here for another week or so, towards the end of orientation. Tish was a senior like Ranko, but Dr. Williams had a conference he had to attend the following week and so had driven her down early. She could have taken the train but didn't mind spending an extra week in New York in return for door-to-door transportation.

Ranko had had the presence of mind to order a pie all for herself. She'd tried to order one with corn, with no success; the other women had been sure she was joking, until Tish and her father had backed her up, having developed a taste for corn pizza themselves. It turned out that Dr. Williams' stint in the Air Force had been entirely at Yokota AFB, the large U.S. base northwest of Tokyo, and the family had lived in Japan for several years; it was no wonder that Tish was so familiar with things Japanese. Ranko had been curious to find out more, but the conversation had turned to other topics.

They'd each chatted about their art, and how they'd come to attend Juilliard. The others had listened, fascinated, as Ranko recounted the roundabout way she had become a violinist. Susan had always wanted to be an opera singer since she was a child; Megan had had thoughts of being a country and western singer, but had slowly been drawn into opera through her own interest and the guidance of a music teacher. Harya had found the oboe when she was twelve, and had fallen in love with it. Tish had merely smiled and said she'd always liked make-believe; the look in Dr. Williams' eyes left Ranko feeling there was more to it than that.

The pizza deliveryman had arrived to find an impromptu jam session in progress: Megan and Susan singing a duet from Mozart's "Cosi Fan Tutte," with Ranko and Harya playing a (rather thin) accompaniment. Fortunately, the two roommates sang Italian rather more clearly than they spoke English. Tish and her father had been happy to sit back and enjoy the music.

Ranko had been nonplussed by the pizza; it was nothing like what she was used to in Japan. Still, it was pretty good, and the others had watched, incredulous, as she slowly devoured an entire pie. They'd asked how she could possibly be so small and eat so much, and Ranko had replied casually that when she'd been doing martial arts for real, she'd eaten much more. Megan had joked that she was like a little red hummingbird, eating her own weight in food every day, and they'd all laughed.

Ranko was surprised to find that she was the only one with a steady boyfriend, much less a fiancé; the others found it was hard to spend so much time practicing and still have time to date. Harya fretted that even though she came from an educated, well-off family, she might get stuck in an arranged marriage that would effectively terminate her career. Megan spoke of how she and her high school boyfriend had drifted apart as she'd made the decision to be an opera singer; he'd been uncomfortable with the idea of her having a career other than as his wife. Ranko had been shocked; she had thought that things like that were no longer an issue in America. Susan and Tish had been conspicuously quiet during the discussion, other than to say they were currently unattached, and no one prodded them for details.

When Dr. Williams had excused himself to head for his hotel room, they'd noticed it was quite late, and they'd all gone to bed. Sadly, Ranko had not gone to sleep.

Against her better judgment, she peeked over the edge of the bed again; it was now 1:14 AM. How was she ever going to manage to get up at 6 for her training session? She turned over and stared at Mt. Fuji in Autumn, and started counting the leaves on the trees in the foreground.

Her thoughts slowly became incoherent, and she found herself in junior high school again, thirteen years old. She seemed to be walking down the hall in slow motion; on the way to PE, perhaps? Yes, that was it.

Though it was an all-boys school, it seemed natural to her that she was wearing a girl's uniform, and was a girl: Ranko, not Ranma. She became aware that she was holding someone's hand, and looked over to her side; it was Ryouga, the junior high version, and he was smiling at her. _Childhood sweethearts? _she thought, and smiled herself. She gripped his hand a little tighter.

They came to the locker rooms; there were two doors, marked "Boys" and "New York." Ryouga let go of her hand and said sadly, "You have to go now." She nodded. They shared a kiss, and she pushed her way through the door marked "New York." It slammed shut behind her, and she heard a click, as of a latch. It was pitch black, and she turned and alternately pounded and yanked on the door, but it wouldn't budge, and suddenly it wasn't even there. Then a sound came, a sound she often heard in her dreams—or rather, her nightmares. First one. Then another. Then many… so many…

"Meowwwwww…"

Tish's eyes popped halfway open as she gave a little gasp and started. She groggily turned her head towards the other bed, the source of the noise that had awakened her. Ranko was shaking her head back and forth, and moaning in Japanese: "_No… No… the cats… Daddy, the cats… make them go away! Please, Daddy… Please… No… make them go away, oh please Daddy!_" She grew more and more agitated.

Tish climbed sleepily out of her loft bed, nearly falling to the floor in the process. She glanced at the clock and groaned; it was quarter to three. She was tall enough to see over the edge of Ranko's bed, and lightly shook the redhead's arm. She murmured in informal Japanese, "_Wake up… it's all right, it's only a dream… you're safe, the cats are gone._"

Ranko stirred, though she was still mostly asleep. "_S-sis? 'zat you?_"

Tish raised an eyebrow; Ranko had used the English word "Sis," pronounced in a Japanese way, rather than the Japanese "big sister" or "little sister." Her thoughts went to the two little girls in the photo on Ranko's desk, and she smiled in understanding. "_I'm here, Sis. You're safe._" She stroked Ranko's hair.

Ranko smiled, her eyes still closed, and rolled back over on her side. Her breathing became regular and quiet.

Tish regarded her sleeping roommate for a long minute, her expression sober, then climbed back into bed herself.

* * *

><p>Ranko shivered as she pushed her way through the doors and was greeted by a chilly breeze. She was glad Tish had told her to bring a sweater, and she slipped it on right away. Then she noticed the view. "Wow…" she breathed.<p>

Tish grinned. "You can see everything from up here. All the way out to Long Island, New Jersey, out to sea, up the Hudson. Pretty cool, huh?"

Ranko rushed to the protective cage which kept people from falling to the pavement of 34th Street far below. She pressed her nose to the wires and peered through, her eyes wide. The tallest building in Tokyo was a mere fifty stories or so. There had been talk of building higher ones, but the Japanese were still too terrified of earthquakes, even though the top of a modern skyscraper was far safer in a big earthquake than was the first floor of a traditionally constructed Japanese home.

"We're only eighty-six stories up now. The observation tower is a hundred and two." Tish's eyes lost focus, and a cloud passed over her face for a moment before her smile returned.

Ranko was silent; her attention was focused entirely on the vista before her. It was late August, so the view was attenuated somewhat by haze, but she could still see a long, long way in every direction. The Empire State Building's lesser brethren stood guard around it, and beyond them, far below, lay all of New York City and a good part of what lay beyond. To the South she could see the Verazzano Narrows bridge, the entrance to New York Harbor. She couldn't make out the Statue of Liberty; it was too short, too close to lower Manhattan, and hidden behind the tall buildings. It was like being in an airplane, but she was _outside_, feeling the breeze, with nothing between her and all that vast expanse but a wire security cage. She grinned.

Orientation started on Sunday, tomorrow, and this was her one free day remaining. (Tish, a returning student, didn't need to attend.) Of course, Ranko still had to practice both her martial arts and her violin, so it wasn't a completely open day, but she had several hours free and they'd decided to spend it together. Tish had offered to serve as tour guide, and it was a chance to explore that Ranko didn't want to pass up.

She spent a half hour making her way around the perimeter of the observation deck, taking everything in. Tish trailed her, a broad smile on her face. "Well?"

"It like flying," breathed Ranko.

"'It's', or 'it is.'" corrected Tish. "You can't leave 'is' out, even informally. You always have to put in all those pesky articles and verbs and things in English; you can't leave stuff out like you do in Japanese. It's a very verbose language." She grinned. "Try not leaving anything out, and I'll tell you if you can drop something."

Ranko nodded; they'd agreed to switch off English and Japanese to practice and teach each other. "It's like flying," she repeated, still in awe. She looked down at the tiny people far below, and grinned. _Finally, I get to look down at someone. _She looked around at the dozens and dozens of skyscrapers; the sheer scale of Manhattan was simply amazing. "Which way B… is Boston?"

Tish pointed off to the Northeast. "That way. Daddy is probably halfway there by now, somewhere in Connecticut. It's about four hours by car." They'd said goodbye to Dr. Williams that morning; he'd wanted to start back early since his son was by himself. Thomas was high school age, which depending on your point of view might make leaving him by himself even worse…

Ranko pondered Tish's words. She'd never taken an extended trip in an automobile; neither her family nor the Tendous owned a car.

Tish offered, "Boston's kind of nice, too. There's a lot of American history there."

_Like Kyoto, _thought Ranko. _And the states are like prefectures_. She was starting to get a feel for the way America was laid out—or at least, this corner of it. "Maybe I will go to Boston while I here."

"'While I am here,' or 'While I'm here,'" corrected Tish. "Sure, I can play tour guide there, too." Ranko turned to smile at Tish, who promptly burst out laughing.

"What?" asked Ranko, blushing.

Tish pointed, giggling. "You have fence face. There are wire marks on your nose." Ranko started giggling herself.

When they'd finished, Tish asked, "Have you seen enough yet?"

"Yes, I think so. Should we go to ob… the observation tower?"

Tish tilted her head. "Well, the view is a little better, but it's behind windows, and there's a line, especially since it's a Saturday."

Ranko thought about that. "Maybe I will come back another time." She smiled. "Where shall we go now?"

Tish grinned. "Japan."

Ranko shook her head, confused.

* * *

><p>"A Japanese bookstore? In New York?"<p>

Tish nodded as they pushed their way through the doors of the Kinokuniya bookstore in Rockefeller Center. "Of course. Lots of Japanese people live in New York, just like lots of Americans live in Tokyo." Ranko nodded thoughtfully; she'd known that, of course, but hadn't realized that there were enough Japanese here to support businesses that catered to them.

They made a beeline for the manga section; Ranko had thought she'd have to forego keeping up with her favorite series while she was here, and was overjoyed to see all her favorite shoujo titles lined up in neat stacks…

Until she noticed they were all a month old. She sagged slightly; she'd have to wait a few weeks for the latest volumes to catch up with her.

Tish was browsing the shoujo titles as well. She suddenly reached out and snatched one. "_Oh, I haven't seen this series in ages! Neat!_" she exclaimed in Japanese.

Ranko followed the abrupt switch in language; it seemed appropriate for a Japanese bookstore."_You can __**read**_ _Japanese, too?_" she asked.

Tish looked up and grinned. "_Sure. Well, at about a junior high first year level. That's enough for most girls' and boys' manga. I have to use a dictionary when I read stuff for adults._" Ranko's curiosity bump was definitely being tickled. She watched as Tish gathered an armful; a volume here, a volume there.

Ranko spotted a volume or two herself, ones she must have missed on her last trip to a bookstore before leaving. She'd been in a hurry that day due to all the preparations. After a time, they headed for the magazines, and Ranko's eyes widened further as Tish picked up a copy of a Japanese magazine. "_I haven't read this in a while, either._"

They headed for the registers. The clerk, a slender, Japanese-looking teenage girl, asked Ranko, "_Will that be all, Miss?_"

"_Yes, thank you._"

"_Your total is $15.48. Thank you for your business._"

It was Tish's turn next; the clerk looked her over. "Will that be all, Miss?" she asked in English.

Tish hesitated a moment, and her eyes tightened slightly. "Yes, thanks."

"Your total is $53.87. Thank you, and please come again." Tish paid, and they left.

Ranko didn't quite know which language to use. "Where shall we go to next?"

"'Where to next?' is more colloquial" said Tish. "There's a Japanese restaurant right over there. How about lunch?" Ranko nodded, and they walked over, toting their plastic bags from the bookstore. Suddenly, she stopped short, staring in the window of the restaurant.

Tish frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," smiled Ranko. "This restaurant has okonomiyaki."

Tish grinned. "You like okonomiyaki?"

Ranko was practically swooning; she'd never expected to find okonomiyaki in America. "Yes!" Tish laughed and led her inside. The restaurant was full of wooden tables and Japanese art and had a quiet, peaceful air.

They were seated quickly, as it was not quite noon yet. The waitress was going to give them time to think, but Ranko didn't let her go. She knew exactly what she wanted: two shrimp and squid okonomiyaki. Tish smiled and ordered one for herself. The waitress jotted everything down and moved off.

Ranko watched Tish quietly for a while; the other woman was running her eyes over the wall decorations. "Tish?"

Tish blinked and turned back to Ranko. "Yes?"

"Why you know Japanese so much?"

"'Why do you know so much Japanese?'" She paused a moment, her eyes wandering again. "Well, you heard Daddy last night. We could have lived in base family housing, but Daddy wanted to experience Japan firsthand, so we lived in an apartment off base. We were there eight years." She picked up the teapot and poured tea for both of them. "It was from the time I was four until I was about twelve."

"Still, lots of Americans live in Tokyo ten years but cannot even ask direction."

Tish stared into her teacup, her expression indecipherable. "I didn't just live in Japan. I went to Japanese schools. I could have gone to the American school on the base, but just like with our apartment, Daddy thought it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to broaden my cultural horizons." She picked up her teacup, but quickly put it down and shook her fingers in pain. "I went to Japanese schools from _Youchien_—Kindergarten—through my first year of junior high." She looked up and smiled. "Daddy was right. It was… an experience. You should see the photos; I was the cutest little black Japanese girl." She grinned. "I still have my little yellow hat and blue smock from _Youchien_." Her smile faded as she saw Ranko's face fall slightly.

Ranko nodded slowly. "I understand now. Is not surprise your Japanese is very good." She smiled a wan smile. "You probably goed to school more than I did when I that… was that age." The weak smile faded.

"'Went to school.'" Tish raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

Ranko looked into her own teacup. She picked it up and moved it in a circle, watching the green tea leaves swirl about. "My father and I go on martial arts training trip, twelve years long, started when I was four and a half years old." She took a sip of tea. "I go… went to school some, but not always." She looked up and smiled, but Tish thought she saw pain in those blue eyes. "I never had a little yellow hat."

"That's kind of… uncommon, isn't it?" asked Tish softly.

Ranko nodded slowly. "Yes." Her lips were pursed.

"Why did your father take you on that trip?"

Tish watched as Ranko's eyes darted to and fro. They landed on the bottle of soy sauce at one end of the table and studied it intently. "There was a… problem with my family. My father taked me with him."

Tish's eyes widened. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to…"

Ranko shook her head and smiled briefly. "It is OK, Tish, truly. It was long time ago." She leaned back in her chair and sighed.

At that moment, their okonomiyaki arrived. Ranko regarded hers, but didn't start to eat yet.

Tish examined her soberly for a moment. "Did something happen with cats on that trip?"

Ranko's head jerked up as if she'd received an electric shock, her gaze flying to meet Tish's. "How… why… why you ask?"

Tish was startled herself; she hadn't been expecting such a violent reaction. "It's just that you had a nightmare last night. You were saying something about cats, begging your father to make them go away. You seemed really upset. I shook you a little and that was enough to get you out of it." She shrugged. "Talking about your father and that trip made me think about what you were saying in your sleep, and I wondered if they were connected."

Ranko laughed nervously. "I did that? It happen sometimes. I… I am just scared of c-cats, a little. That is all." She took a bite of okonomiyaki. She stopped a moment, as if she were pondering the taste, then shrugged slightly and resumed eating. As she ate, she seemed to relax.

After a moment, Tish followed suit, and paused herself. _Urgh… not the best I've ever had. _She regarded her lunch companion, who seemed to have recovered her spirits and was steadily attacking her meal. '_That is all', huh? Girl, you are one rotten liar._

* * *

><p>Ranko shifted positions again, but it simply was not possible to find a comfortable way to sit on the hard metal folding chair. She cast her eyes around the room once more, wondering when the Music department meeting would actually begin. After over a week of orientation activities, the school year was finally getting underway.<p>

Not that orientation hadn't been… interesting. In addition to information about the school, its facilities, and the academic year ahead of them, there had been outings to various places in New York: Central Park, the Brooklyn Museum, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art (complete with Egyptian temple).

There had been safety lectures about living in New York, to which Ranko had listened carefully. Though her martial arts skills gave her protection, she knew that as fast as she was, she couldn't evade a bullet. Unlike Tokyo, guns were commonplace here. She thought she still had a chance if she faced an adversary with a gun—they tended to get overconfident and careless—but didn't particularly care to find out.

There had also been sessions on the School's health services, including a rather eye-opening (for her, anyway) women-only one on safe sex and birth control. She had blushed a deep, deep shade of red—to the amusement of some of the other women—even as she'd listened attentively. She didn't think she had to worry about the disease part, but the part about birth control had hit her like a thunderbolt. This kind of thing had never been discussed at Fuurinkan.

She and Ryouga both wanted children; on that they agreed. Likewise for delaying their family by a few years: having a baby right away would make it hard to get her career off the ground and establish Ryouga's dojo. However, despite the fact that she was going to be married in nine months, she hadn't given any thought whatsoever to how to _avoid _having a baby right away. They were both so shy about this topic, and had so little privacy within their respective families, that birth control had been a non-issue anyway. She thought she had better go to the school clinic soon to find out more.

No matter how useful this information was, though, she'd come to New York to study the violin, not family planning. And so she leaned forward in eager anticipation when the faculty of the Music department finally started to file into the studio that had been turned into a makeshift auditorium.

When they were all settled in their seats, Professor Vincent, the department head, moved to the front of the room and cleared her throat. She was an imposing woman in her fifties who reminded Ranko slightly of Cologne. "Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies and gentlemen. Good morning, and welcome to Juilliard—or welcome back, as the case may be. I trust you've all kept up your practicing this summer?" She grinned, and there was a smattering of good-natured laughter. If they weren't diligent about practicing, they wouldn't be here.

"You should all already know who your individual instructor is; if you don't, please see me after the meeting. Undergraduates need to sign up for courses; that will take place this afternoon. What we're going to discuss this morning is some vital information on the way the department functions, the organization of the chamber music ensembles, and the school's orchestra, which is made up of all of you."

Ranko listened patiently through the introductions of the full-time faculty. Professor Vincent introduced Andrea Martin, the department secretary, whom Ranko had heard on the phone but hadn't met in person. Sheets of paper were handed out with phone numbers and e-mail addresses for the department staff and faculty, and a list of all the students for this year. Ranko noticed that her name was listed in English order: Ranko Saotome. Her name looked so odd in Roman letters; you couldn't see the meaning at all. It was just a collection of sounds.

Ranko returned her attention to Professor Vincent. "Now that we're done with the boring part…" Laughter ran through the room. "As I said, now that we're done with that, let's move on to the fun stuff: performing. All the undergraduates will be participating in the chamber music ensembles. As much as possible, we want you to learn to play the way a professional chamber music group would. That means developing a rapport with the other members, so we will be assigning you to standing ensembles. As always, since we don't have all the string instruments in exactly the right proportions, we'll have some string quartets, some trios, and one larger string ensemble. Don't worry if you wind up in a trio and want to work on quartets; next year we'll rotate you all around again."

Ranko frowned; there wasn't going to be a "next year" for her. She'd already done a fair amount of chamber music work under Professor Murata; how were they going to handle her?

Professor Vincent continued,"Brass and woodwind players will be in the corresponding ensembles, and will work with the string quartets or trios as well. Pianists will also work with the other ensembles.

"Positions in the orchestra are based on the auditions you gave for admission. Those positions may be adjusted throughout the school year. We'll discuss the initial chairs at the first orchestra meeting, which is next Tuesday. There will be two orchestra trips this year, one in the fall, to Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco, and one in the spring to the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C." An excited murmur passed through the students. "We'll be giving two performances at each location; the program has not yet been determined. There will also be multiple performances here in Lincoln Center at Alice Tully Hall."

She looked around and smiled at all the young faces in the room. "Are there any questions, before we read off the group assignments?" There weren't any, and so she proceeded to read through a long list of groups, reading off the names of the students in each one. Ranko waited patiently for her own name to be announced.

It wasn't. "That is all of the groups. Graduate students will discuss their chamber music studies with their primary instructor." Ranko closed her eyes in exasperation; was this another bureaucratic mixup like her name? Her eyes went to Professor Vasilev, who as it happened was looking at her. He must have read the worry in her gaze, because he smiled and shook his head: _Don't worry about it, it's OK. _She nodded uncertainly.

"I only have a couple more announcements, and then you can all go and get some lunch. First, let me remind the undergraduates once again that course registration is this afternoon. Second, we'll be having a department party this evening, in Studio 5B at 7:30 PM, with non-alcoholic drinks and hors d'oeuvres. It's a great chance for all of us to get acquainted, and I hope to see you there. It's come as you are, so no need to dress up unless you want to."

She looked around the room one more time, "That's all for this morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all." The students got up and started to file out of the room amid a buzz of conversation. Ranko noticed that several were stealing furtive glances at her, and wondered why. Maybe they'd never seen a redheaded Japanese before.

She made her way over to Professor Vasilev. "Professor, why I… was I not on the list?"

Peter smiled. "Well, technically speaking, you're a graduate student, Ranko-chan. Professor Murata and I think you need to spend only one year here, and the school rules say you can't do that as an undergraduate."

Ranko blinked in confusion. "But I did not graduate yet from Tokyo University of Fine Arts and Music. How I can be graduate student?"

Peter offered a conspiratorial grin. "Actually, Professor Murata sent Juilliard a letter saying you had already satisfied all of the requirements for graduation, and that you were qualified to enter Juilliard's Graduate Diploma program. He said that your University would confer your undergraduate degree simultaneous with your completion of the program here. That was enough to sway the faculty committee."

Ranko felt both pleased and somewhat disoriented; what else had these two been up to behind her back? "So what I will be studying this year?"

Peter shook his head, his expression turning serious. "Ranko-chan, let's not waste time on false modesty. From a technical perspective, you are already an extraordinarily accomplished violinist." Ranko blushed slightly. "You don't need any more coursework, or theory, or technique; you've mastered those. What you need is to develop your artistry, to put that technical mastery in the service of expressive beauty." Ranko nodded, still embarrassed. "Professor Murata and I hoped that by coming here, you would get a chance to work with the most talented musicians in the world, people who spend a lot of time here but do not visit Tokyo nearly as often. We wanted you to be exposed to the very best students and performers in the world, partly so that you could overcome some of the problems you've been having, but most of all so you could develop your talent to the fullest."

He waved her over to some chairs by the side of the room so they could both sit down. "I'm going to be working intensively with you, but you are not going to get most of your education from me. Professor Murata is a great educator, and I can only hope to help you slightly beyond what he's already done. The ones who are really going to teach you are the other students, and the world-class performers who come here to visit and teach. If you work with people like that, you can't help but learn from them."

Ranko's remaining doubts about leaving home to come here vanished; she knew she had made the right choice. For this kind of opportunity, she could put up with a lot. "It will be a great honor for me. I look forward very much to it."

Peter smiled. "Many of them are looking forward to it as well."

Ranko blushed again at the thought. "What about chamber music? How will I work?"

"I'm going to have you work with several of the groups, the most advanced ones. You're only here for one year, so I'm going to put you through trios, quartets, quintets, you name it. I also plan for you to work through a large part of the violin sonata repertoire with one of our most talented piano students; I'll set up a meeting in the next few days to start that going. I think you two will learn a great deal from each other." He smiled. "Why don't you go get some lunch, and come by my office this afternoon, OK? We'll talk some more."

She nodded and smiled. "OK. See you later." She rose, and headed for the door.

Professor Vincent came over to stand next to Peter; they both watched the young Japanese woman practically bounce out of the room, which couldn't help but bring a smile to both their faces. "So that's her? Our unpolished gem?" Peter nodded. "I just couldn't believe that audition tape. She's only studied for five years, and she plays like a master. I'm looking forward to this year."

Peter pondered that for a while. "Thank you for bending the rules so much to get her admitted, Irene."

She smiled. "Peter, when all is said and done, it would have been a great disservice to music _not _to bring her here. No matter how things turn out." Her smiled faded. "Are you sure about her problem? The emotional depth may just not be there yet. She's still young, after all. I've seen lots of young artists who are technically proficient but don't have a lot to say yet." She sighed. "Some of them never do. I hope that's not the case here."

Peter shook his head. "I can't say I'm sure, but I have a very strong feeling about her. I wouldn't have pulled so many strings to get her over here if all she had were technical mastery. You haven't watched her play yet. You can see something in her face, her eyes. She has the most amazingly expressive eyes… No, I think she has what it takes." He put a hand to his chin. "I just have to figure out how to coax it out through the damn violin."

* * *

><p>"<em>How'd your first day go?<em>"

Ranko looked up at Tish, who was lying on her bed on her stomach, feet in the air, reading one of the manga she'd bought last week. Japanese seemed to be the language of the moment. Ranko smiled as she shucked off her backpack. "_OK, I guess. My professor told me I was going to learn mostly by working with other students and performers who visit. I did work with him some this afternoon, on my problem._"

Tish stopped reading and put down her manga. "'_Problem?'_"

Ranko paused. "_I have trouble with making my music expressive, emotional. I can __**feel**_ _what I want to express, but somehow I just can't work it into my playing._"

"_Did he have any ideas?_"

Ranko sighed. "_Not really. He saw me play in Tokyo already, and he didn't have any new insights. He says he can see it in my face, but he doesn't hear it coming out of the violin._"

"_Maybe you're not relaxed enough?_"

"_No, you have to be relaxed to play an instrument well, any instrument. If you get all tense you can't play at all. It's just like martial arts; you have to be relaxed, flexible, ready to move._"

Tish put her chin on her hand. "_Acting is different. You have to be in the character's frame of mind. Sometimes I give my best performances when I'm really wound up._" She grinned sheepishly. "_Sorry, I don't have any bright ideas._"

Ranko laughed. "_That's OK, that's why I'm here. I'll do as he says, and watch other people perform. I'm sure I'll figure it out._" A nagging little voice in the back of her mind said, _You haven't figured it out in three years_. She pushed that thought away; it wasn't going to help.

She sat down in her desk chair. "_How about you, how was your first day?_" She started to unpack her backpack; out came her notebooks, sheet music, and so on.

Tish sat up, cross-legged. "_There were no surprises, really. The class years don't mix in the drama division; each class is an ensemble which sticks together all four years. So we basically just said 'Hi' to each other, caught up on news, and picked up from where we left off last spring. We discussed the workshops we were going to have this semester, and started picking out which plays we're going to do._"

Ranko smiled and nodded, then frowned; there was a small piece of paper stuck in one of her notebooks. Where had that come from? Inside the backpack? As she examined it, she paled. "_Oh, my! This is Taneoka's phone number! I completely forgot about calling her._" She looked glum. "_She probably thinks I'm a space case._"

Tish blinked. "_Who's Taneoka?_"

Ranko was dialing the phone. "_A flight attendant I met on the flight from Tokyo. We hit it off, and decided to get together since she has a layover here every couple of weeks._" She waited as the phone rang.

Tish watched as Ranko's face formed a slight pout. "_Not home?_"

"_It's her cell phone, and I got her voice mail. Probably she's working._" She waited. "_Hello, Taneoka-san? This is Saotome Ranko; we met on a JAL flight a couple of weeks ago. I was the violinist doing calisthenics in the aisle, remember?_" Tish snickered, and Ranko stuck a tongue out at her and pulled down an eyelid, which only made Tish snicker more. "_I'm sorry to take so long to get back to you—I was distracted getting settled in at school. If you want to get in touch, my phone number is (212) 555-7945, and I have an answering machine. I have an e-mail address, too, it's rsaotome at juilliard dot edu. I would love to get together again if that's OK with you._" She hung up.

She glanced over at Tish; her roommate looked pensive, and she made a guess as to why. "_You can probably tag along if you like. I'll bet she wouldn't mind._" A mischievous smile crossed her face. "_I'm sure she'd like to make another Japanese girlfriend._" Tish didn't say anything, but smiled.

There was the sound of a throat being cleared from the doorway; they turned to find Megan standing there, her arms folded. "If y'all're done speakin' in code, would you like to go get some dinner?"

A week with Megan had improved Ranko's ability to understand "Texan," as she called it. She and Tish grinned at each other. "Sure!"

* * *

><p>Ranko hurried down the hall to Studio 5B. She didn't want to be late to the department's first social function, and, perhaps more importantly, she wanted to get there while there was still a good selection of hors d'oeuvres.<p>

Despite Professor Vincent's admonition to "come as you are," she didn't want to go to her department's first evening affair wearing the running shoes, blue jeans, and cotton print top she'd been sporting all day. Five years of hanging out with Akane had helped her to develop a halfway decent fashion sense: her twin sister, while she still couldn't cook to save her life, had always had a good eye for casual but cute clothing. She'd kept the cotton top but switched to a knee-length denim skirt, and replaced the running shoes with sandals. She'd changed from scrunchie to hair ornament, and switched earrings. A little dressier, but still casual.

She made her way inside and ran her eyes around the room. It was well lit, though not brightly: friendly and intimate, but not romantic. The decor was "Early Academic": worn-looking, utilitarian pressboard tables and metal folding chairs. Students and faculty were milling around and chatting; people were still arriving.

Her eyes locked on to the table piled high with munchies of all different kinds. There they lingered for a moment, until she forced herself to survey the room once more. The men were dressed about the same as they had been that morning, with some exceptions, but many of the women seemed to have subtly enhanced their outfits, as she had. She smiled.

Her dress code anxieties quelled, she returned to her original objective, and made a beeline for the hors d'oeuvres. It had been a whole hour since dinner, so she was feeling ready to eat again. Not wanting to spend the entire evening hanging around the food table and grazing, she took a plate, piled it high with little quiches, egg rolls, mini-pizzas, vegetables, and chicken fingers, and set out to mingle a bit while munching.

As she meandered she locked eyes with another Japanese woman. She was on the tall side—taller even than Akane—and had her hair cut in a short bob. They exchanged smiles, and Ranko headed over to introduce herself.

When she'd become herself again five years ago, she had been very shy and quiet; being a girl had been too new, too overwhelming. She'd been horribly self-conscious, and not a little afraid that complete strangers would recognize instantly that she'd been a boy for twelve years. Since then, enough time had passed and she had gained enough self-confidence that she'd become more outgoing. She wasn't the life of the party, but she enjoyed meeting people.

"_Hi, I'm Saotome Ranko. It's nice to meet you._"

The other woman blushed. "I'm really sorry, I don't understand Japanese at all. I'm Japanese-American, third generation." She smiled and held out a hand. "I'm Allison Yamamoto."

Ranko boggled, and blushed herself. "I am sorry… I never meeted a Japanese-American before." She realized she'd better repeat her self-introduction. "My name is Ranko Saotome. It is nice to meet you, Ms. Yamamoto." She took the proffered hand and shook it.

Allison laughed. "Please, just Allison." She blinked. "Wait a minute… _you're _Ranko Saotome? Really?" Her eyes lit up. "Wow! I was hoping I would meet you tonight! Cool!"

Ranko blinked, and considered briefly whether there might not be another Ranko Saotome for whom Allison was mistaking her. No, probably not. She struggled to come up with a response, and settled for, "You wanted to meet me?"

Allison blinked herself. "Sure! I was hoping we'd get a chance to work together this year. I was so excited when I heard you were coming to Juilliard!"

Ranko felt like pinching herself, and wondered if this was going to turn into another cat nightmare. It was certainly surreal enough. "You already know who I am?"

Allison shook her head slightly. "Of course. There's been a lot of buzz about you, especially since Professor Vasilev mentioned you'd be coming here. Even before that we'd heard about you. Girl, don't you read your own reviews?"

Ranko winced ever so slightly. Junior year, she'd started performing as a soloist at the public concerts given by the University. Sada-san of the Asahi newspapers, whom she'd first met while still a high school student, had caught wind of that and come expressly to hear her. After she'd performed the Bach A minor violin concerto, he'd actually written a review for the newspaper, her very first: something she had not expected to see so early in her career. It had been full of praise—to an unreasonable extent, she thought, especially considering some of the problems she had. He'd called her a truly great violinist in the making. Her mother, to her intense embarrassment, had framed a copy.

Sada-san had followed that a few weeks later with a flattering profile of her, and then, thankfully, had limited himself to an occasional mention. He'd never written about a student like that before, and when she'd asked him why, he'd smiled and replied that he'd waited four years, and that was long enough. Still, she was uncomfortable with the attention; she didn't feel ready for that kind of scrutiny.

"But my reviews are back of Arts section of Japanese newspaper. You read it?"

Allison laughed. "As if I could. But word gets around, you know."

Ranko nodded slowly; Professor Vasilev had said as much. "Allison, I hope I fit to your expectations. I think maybe they are too large. What you study?"

"I play clarinet. I'm a senior, and this year I'm hoping for first clarinet in the orchestra. Last year I lost it by a hair, but he was a senior and he graduated." She held up crossed fingers and grinned.

Ranko laughed; it was hard not to like Allison. "I too hope we can work together."

She and Allison continued to chat for a while. Allison was from the San Francisco Bay area, and was looking forward to the fall orchestra trip as a chance to see her family. Ranko talked about her two families and her martial arts history, as usual leaving out all the magical elements. She'd had enough practice telling her censored life story that omitting the embarrassing parts was easy. As long as people didn't start asking questions about the loose ends.

After a few minutes watching Ranko munch her snacks, Allison decided she needed to go get some herself. They parted with a wave, and Ranko started to circulate again.

She met a few more students in the same way as she made her way around the room, making sure to swing by the food table periodically to stock up again. Not everyone knew who she was, but enough did to leave her slightly dazed. Not for the first time, she worried that Sada-san's extravagant praise had left people with unreasonable expectations of her. She knew she was good technically, and she was determined to be the best she could be, but more than a few people seemed to think she was already a star, and she was well aware that she wasn't. The problem with being held up so high was that there was a long way to fall.

At the moment she was chatting with Bill Anderson, a junior from Minnesota who was studying composition. Bill seemed to be awfully enthusiastic about things, and Ranko was just starting to develop the suspicion that he was hitting on her—in a polite way—when a familiar voice came from one side.

"Hey babe, where have you been hiding? I have not talked to you for a whole week."

She wilted slightly, but tried not to show it. She turned and put on a smile. "Hello, Jean-Pierre."

She found a pair of startling blue eyes regarding her pleasantly. "Ah, I have missed that beautiful smile." The smile in question grew a little more forced.

Bill looked back and forth between the two of them. "Maybe I should go? Three's a crowd." He turned to leave.

Ranko's smile vanished."No!" she said, a little too loudly. She didn't notice as the rest of the room grew quieter and eyes turned in their direction. More quietly, "No… you do not need go."

Bill stopped in his tracks. "Oooookayyy…" He turned back, his eyes flicking uneasily between Ranko and Jean-Pierre.

Ranko flushed slightly, and rushed to explain. "Jean-Pierre is just someone I know. We are not a couple."

Jean-Pierre nodded agreeably. "No, we are not." He flashed a rakish grin. "Not yet."

Ranko closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Jean-Pierre. I have a… a fiancé. I get married next June. To _him_." She folded her arms in defiance. Bill sagged slightly, as did many of the men who were eavesdropping, and a couple of the women.

"But he is in Tokyo, and we are here," observed Jean-Pierre, still smiling as pleasantly as if he were discussing the weather, or perhaps his garden.

Ranko's jaw dropped slightly; she couldn't quite believe this. She didn't know whether to cry, yell, or laugh, and in the end settled for speechless consternation.

Bill piped up, "You know, those mini-pizzas look great! Think I'll go get some." He declared victory and withdrew.

Ranko felt her temper grow hot. She was casting about for her voice and had nearly located it when the smile dropped from Jean-Pierre's face, to be replaced by concern. "I'm sorry, babe. Don't take life so seriously, no?"

The flames of anger were washed away by a hot wave of embarrassment; he'd been teasing her, and she'd let it get her goat. She averted her eyes.

"Ranko…" There was none of the usual flippancy in his tone, only gentle warmth. She looked back to find him regarding her with a serious, empathetic expression. She found herself thinking it suited him much better than the one he usually wore.

She sighed. _Maybe he's not such a jerk after all. _"Jean-Pierre, I am sorry I became upset. But, please do not make such jokes. They are not funny to me."

A shade of the rakish grin reappeared. "Who said I am joking?" He winked. "_En garde_, babe." He turned and walked away. Ranko watched him go, then tore her eyes away to study her feet for a few moments.

_I was right the first time. He's a jerk._

* * *

><p>End Chapter 2<p>

Thursday, December 22, 2005

**Copyright Notice **

The characters and stories of Ranma ½ are Copyright © Rumiko Takahashi, and are used here without permission or license.

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.

This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.

This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Ranma ½ characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Ranma ½ as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

All original characters and story elements expressed herein are Copyright © 2002-2005 by the author.


	3. Chapter 3: Three Little Maids

Notes from Juilliard

By ClassicalGal

Chapter 3

* * *

><p>"What's that, Akane?" Kasumi leaned in from the hallway, an oven mitt on one hand.<p>

Akane looked up from the papers she was reading at the dining table in the family room. She'd just finished setting the places for dinner and was going through the computer printout again. "Oh, I just got an e-mail from Ranko, and I thought I'd read it aloud to everyone." She smiled. "That way, it'll be a little bit like she's here with us."

Kasumi brightened. "What a nice idea!" Her brow furrowed momentarily. "Don't you usually get her e-mails in the morning?"

Akane nodded. "She usually writes at her bedtime, but she says that she was too upset last night, and wrote in the morning instead." Akane frowned. "It was that obnoxious French student again. Apparently he doesn't know how to take 'no' for an answer."

Kasumi _tsked_. "He doesn't sound very polite to me." She glanced at the wall clock. "Nabiki should be home from work any minute now. Would you go call Father and Uncle Saotome? Dinner's almost ready." Akane nodded and lay down the printout at her place at the table.

As if on cue, the front door opened and slammed shut violently, and a sullen voice called out "Tadaima."

Akane and Kasumi exchanged a nervous glance, and called out "O-kaeri!" Nabiki appeared in the hallway, wearing her usual charcoal business suit. Akane winced; her sister's face was like a typhoon warning.

Kasumi eyed her carefully, and hesitated a moment before asking, "How was your day, Nabiki?"

Nabiki clapped her hands together under her chin. "Oh, it was _wonderful_. Today I got to make tea for a _Vice President_." She snorted. "I'm going to go get out of this monkey suit." She turned and stomped upstairs.

Kasumi and Akane looked at each other for a long moment, and sighed. Akane left to go look for the fathers, and Kasumi ducked back into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, when Nabiki reentered the family room, she found four pairs of eyes peering anxiously at her from around the table.

She rolled her eyes as she sat down. "Would you please all stop looking at me like that? I'm not about to go up on the roof and start shooting, you know."

Kasumi winced slightly. "We're just worried about you, little sister." She started to serve.

Akane asked tentatively, "Is it really that bad?"

Nabiki snorted. "Let's just say I could have skipped the four years of college for what they have me doing. I'm not too sure about high school, either. And do they put me in a department where I can use my talents, like Purchasing, or Finance, or even Operations?" Kasumi motioned, and Nabiki handed over her rice bowl to be filled. "No, of course not. They put me in Human Resources Administration. And the department chief is some kind of evolutionary throwback; to him, 'female' means 'O.L.'" Kasumi handed the bowl back. "Thanks, Oneechan. How on Earth did someone like him wind up in charge of H.R.?" She put her hand over her eyes. "God, why did I ever go to work for a big company?"

Souun folded his arms and smiled sadly. "I recall one of my daughters saying something about not wanting to be a big fish in a small pond."

"Yeah, but right now I'm not even a fish. I think I'm some kind of invertebrate." Everyone chuckled. Nabiki sighed, and sagged slightly. "It'll get better. It _has _to get better." Kasumi finished serving, and they started to eat.

"You can always come keep the books for the Dojo, Oneechan." Akane grinned. "When I get done with this place, I expect that to be a full time job." If you looked closely, you might have imagined you saw little pink hearts in Genma's and Souun's eyes. "I can't promise you wouldn't have to make tea, though." She winked.

Nabiki laughed. "That's the spirit, kiddo. I feel the same way; that's why I want to try something bigger first. But thanks." Her eyes strayed to the computer printout by Akane's side. "What's that? Trying to rifle my files? I keep all the good stuff encrypted, you know."

Akane rolled her eyes. "Ha ha. No, it's an e-mail from Ranko. She wrote this morning—umm, her morning, that is—instead of last night. I just got it and I thought I'd read it aloud over dinner. That way, it'll be a little bit like she's here with us." Everyone paused from their eating, and the room grew quiet for a moment. Their eyes went to the empty spot at the table.

Nabiki smiled quietly, her boss forgotten for a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, that'll be nice." Genma had a faraway look in his eyes.

Kasumi added, "Why don't you finish dinner first, Akane?" Akane nodded, and everyone resumed eating. Kasumi's cooking had slid somewhat due to the heavy demands on her time—she tended to use more convenience items and prepared foods these days, something she'd avoided when she was a full time homemaker—but it was still something to be savored.

Nabiki seemed to be recovering from her stressful day at the office. "How was registration for the fall semester, Oneechan?"

Kasumi tilted her head. "There weren't any problems. Classes start on Monday, so I'll have a little break until then."

Souun glanced over at his eldest daughter. "What are you taking this term?"

"Umm, Western Poetry, Advanced Conversational English, and Art History." The eldest Tendou daughter blushed slightly. "Oh, and third-year Biology, and Organic Chemistry."

Nabiki raised an eyebrow. "Biology and Chemistry again? Why?"

"I just like living things." Kasumi smiled and turned to Akane. "How about you, Dear?" Akane and Kasumi were both attending Musashi University in Nerima; it was just a short train ride away. They still lived at home, to save on expenses.

"I managed to get into one of the Business School classes, on running a small business. That ought to help. I'm taking Conversational English, too, and a couple of final requirements for my Phys. Ed. degree." She smiled ruefully. "And I signed up for the Drama club again."

Kasumi shifted instantly into her role as surrogate mother. "Are you having regrets about your decision, Dear?"

Akane shook her head. "No, not really. I wish I could have done both, but I really want to run the Dojo." Souun and Genma let out the breath they'd each been holding. "I think I'll try to get involved with a community theatre group or something. I can't give it up entirely." She grinned. "I guess I know how Ranko feels, now. It's hard when you have more things you love than you have time for." Kasumi, having raised two of her three little sisters single-handedly, could do nothing but nod in agreement.

Nabiki smiled. "Everyone's taking English. Is it because we have a jet-setter in the family now?"

Akane laughed. "Maybe. She'll be traveling all around the world, and I want to be able to understand that part of her life." Kasumi nodded as well. "And when I tag along on one of her world tours, I don't want to come across as a rube." They all laughed.

In due time everyone finished eating, and Akane looked around the table. "Shall I read Ranko's letter now?" Everyone nodded. Akane picked up the printout, cleared her throat, and began to read.

"Dear Sis,

"Sorry to be late! I was too upset last night, and I had to wait until this morning to be able to write about it.

"What got me so upset? One guess: Jean-Pierre. We had a little get-acquainted party for the Music department last night, and I was having such a good time, until he started hitting on me—again. He drove away the guy I was talking to — OK, so the first guy was hitting on me too, but he was at least polite about it. Jean-Pierre didn't even stop when I reminded him I was engaged! He was joking about us becoming a couple. They could put this guy in the dictionary as the definition for 'jerk.'"

Akane paused, blushing slightly. "She's written about him before. He's a real pest."

She resumed reading. "I always thought Kunou kept after us just because he was an idiot, but I guess some guys are just like that. Jean-Pierre is no idiot, I'll grant him that, but he doesn't understand 'no' any better than Kunou did." Nabiki snickered.

"Anyway, more than enough about him; I have much more interesting news. I found out from Professor Vasilev yesterday that I'm a graduate student! Professor Murata wrote a letter to Juilliard saying I had already met the requirements for graduation. I was kind of surprised, but I think it's wonderful; it gives me a lot more flexibility. I'll be able to spend all my time working on what I need to instead of repeating coursework I've already done.

"I spent a lot of time with Professor Vasilev yesterday, and he has a very busy year lined up for me. I'll be working with the most advanced students at Juilliard, and he also said that I'd get a chance to work with some of the top performers in the world when they come to visit. I'm really excited! I just know I'll be able to lick my problem here. I'm still homesick, but I'm so glad I came.

"I'm sorry this is so short, but I have to run off now. The professor said he wants me to start working on the violin sonata repertoire with the top piano student here, and I'm meeting with them in ten minutes. I'll get back to my usual schedule and write to you tonight.

"Love you Sis, lots. Give my love to everyone. Your sister, Ranko." Akane gently lay the printout back on the table; everyone gazed at it for a moment.

Nabiki shook herself out of the melancholy mood that had descended. "She seems happy and excited about her studies. I'm glad she's not letting this creep get to her."

Genma snorted, his arms folded. "It would take a lot more than that to slow down my daughter."

* * *

><p>Ranko pushed open the door to practice room 3C, and stopped short. She closed her eyes briefly.<p>

Jean-Pierre gave a cheery wave. "_Bonjour_, babe."

Ranko opened her eyes. "Professor? What is happening?"

Peter had the good grace to look uncomfortable. "Jean-Pierre is the student I'd like you to work with, Ranko-chan. He is one our most talented pianists, if not our most talented." Jean-Pierre smiled and took a bow, as Ranko rolled her eyes. "I think you two will learn a lot from each other." He noted Ranko's suspicious expression. "If you want to stretch yourself, you need to work with the best."

_Jean-Pierre, the best? _She had to admit that in the short time she had known him, she hadn't really thought about him as an artist, just as an overbearing Lothario. She'd known he was a pianist, but nothing beyond that. If Professor Vasilev said he was Juilliard's top piano student, then she knew he must be talented indeed. It did make sense; his father was one of the top cellists in the world.

Her mind drifted back to her studies in Tokyo, and some of the people she'd known there. It wasn't as if Jean-Pierre was the first artist she'd worked with who was difficult to get along with. She shivered slightly as a memory floated up: if she could work with that girl she'd bested for first violin soloist back in Tokyo, she could work with anyone. She hoped that he'd at least refrain from hitting on her when they were working.

She nodded slowly. "Yes… Of course, Professor."

"Don't worry, babe. Like I said, we will make beautiful music together."

Ranko said nothing, but put down her backpack and got out her violin. She went over to stand next to the piano, while Jean-Pierre sat down on the bench. Jean-Pierre struck chords on the piano repeatedly, and Ranko tuned her violin to match. After that they each ran through a few scales to warm up. When they were done, they turned to face Peter with an expectant air.

The older man reached into his portfolio and pulled out some sheet music. "I thought we'd start with an early Beethoven sonata. You know the number 2, don't you, Ranko-chan?"

Ranko bit her lip and nodded. It had been one of the first violin sonatas she'd learned. Her rendition of it was pretty good—the problem was, she expected more from herself than "pretty good."

"Do you need the sheet music?"

She shook her head. "No, I know this one."

"It has been a little while," admitted Jean-Pierre; Peter handed him the sheaf of papers. The young Frenchman read through it carefully, then nodded and put the score up on the piano. Jean-Pierre looked up at Ranko, and she nodded her head. They nodded four beats to each other, and began.

Within a few measures it was very clear why Jean-Pierre was considered the most talented pianist at Juilliard. He might be a pest, he might be a womanizer, he might be an arrogant jerk… but he was most definitely an artist, and God, could he play. He skipped effortlessly through the demanding passages of the first movement, playing as flawlessly as if it were something he practiced every day. The music flowing from the piano was vibrant and alive. Their playing was synchronized in an intricate dance of perfect harmony.

Ranko felt like she was floating on clouds made of music; Jean-Pierre easily had the best technique of any pianist she'd worked with yet, and it was exhilarating. He seemed to be enjoying himself, too: now and then he looked up and flashed that smile of his, and it didn't seem lascivious at all. Peter listened and watched carefully as he turned pages for Jean-Pierre.

However, as they began to make their way through the second, Andante movement, with its sad, emotional air, Ranko's glow faded. Jean-Pierre was catching the mood perfectly, but while Ranko's playing was technically flawless as always, she could tell she was not keeping up her end of their teamwork. As was so often the case with expressive music, her playing was too dispassionate: perfect, but dull. Jean-Pierre's smiles disappeared.

Things improved somewhat for the final Allegro, but Ranko knew she was not playing as well as she wanted to. _Why do I have such trouble with this? He makes it look easy!_

When they were done, Jean-Pierre and Peter sat back, and Ranko sighed. Jean-Pierre looked her over with a very penetrating gaze, and Ranko found herself flushing slightly. He shook his head slowly. "You need to let go, to let your heart fly."

Ranko shook her own head. "That is not the problem. I hear what you play, and I feel 'Yes, I am feeling same things in my heart.'" Her blush deepened. "I want to let them out, but they get lost somewhere on the way. I don't know why. I don't understand." She drooped slightly.

Jean-Pierre seemed to be filled with nervous energy, like a pacing tiger. His hands gestured impatiently. "You are too uptight, too strict. You must let your feelings go." He flung his arms wide, like a bird taking flight.

Ranko felt her temper start to simmer. "I don't think I hold tight on my feelings. Somehow, they just don't come out."

Peter noticed the rising tension and jumped in. "She's right, Jean-Pierre. Here, let me play while you watch her." The two changed places. "The Andante again, Ranko-chan, just for a minute or so." She nodded, a little embarrassed at being dissected in this way. Still, that's why she'd come halfway around the world.

As they played, she was aware of Jean-Pierre's gaze on her; it was intense. She found herself starting to blush again, and focused her attention on the music.

Despite his instructions, Peter continued to the end of the movement, and Ranko followed his lead. Jean-Pierre sat back heavily in his seat. "Yes… yes… I _see _your heart. But I don't _hear _it. A mystery, truly." He leaned forward. "We need to find out what is keeping your heart behind bars, and set it free."

Ranko eyed him doubtfully; she was never sure whether he was talking about music or romance, and it had long since begun to get on her nerves.

Peter looked between the two of them. "All right, you two, from the beginning." He and Jean-Pierre traded places, and Ranko raised her bow again.

* * *

><p>The heat of Indian summer beat down as Ranko crossed the plaza on the way back to her room. The plaza was thick with people, but she hardly noticed. She was distracted, trying to work out a puzzle—a puzzle with blue eyes, a rakish grin, an obnoxious manner, and the soul of an artist. A difficult puzzle indeed.<p>

She entered the Rose building and headed for the elevators. She lucked out: one was waiting, and she got in and pushed the button for the seventeenth floor, still lost in thought.

She'd been working with Jean-Pierre on and off for a couple of weeks now. Aside from the non-stop flirting, he'd been completely professional, and he'd worked as hard as Professor Vasilev in trying to help her overcome her problem—to no avail, so far. His playing showed him to be an artist of the highest caliber, and she ached as she watched him bring deeply-felt emotion to his playing even as she struggled to do so herself.

He was an arrogant jerk… but he played beautifully and was very solicitous about her own work, even if he came across as a know-it-all. Jean-Pierre seemed far more complex than the simple playboy she'd taken him for at first. No, this was no Kunou, even if his romantic skills seemed to be on the same inept level.

The door slid open with a chime, and she let herself in the front door of her suite. She looked around; the place was unusually quiet. _Did everyone go to dinner early?_

Flora Ho poked her head out of the room she shared with Anne Raffo. The two of them and Hannah Bennett were the last three members of their suite of eight, and had arrived just before classes started. Flora was a violist from Hong Kong, a junior, and Anne a sophomore from Pittsburgh and a flutist. Hannah was a dance junior from Grand Rapids, Michigan. "Oh, Hi. You little late today, no?"

Ranko nodded. "My practice session was long today, and I stopped at the Student Employment Office again. Where is everyone?"

Susan Burnes poked her head out as well. "The Americans have gone off to supper a wee bit early. There seems to be some kind of debate for this year's presidential election on the telly tonight, and they wanted to go watch in the lounge downstairs." Flora nodded in agreement.

"'Debate'? I don't know this word."

"Well, normally it means to have a formal argument about a topic, with one side arguing one position and the other arguing the opposing position." Susan grinned. "However, presidential debates seem quite another thing. As near as I can tell, it's reporters asking questions which the candidates don't answer. Instead they talk about whatever they wish." She shook her head. "Very odd."

Ranko was totally bewildered, but then again, she found Japanese politics nearly as impenetrable. There hadn't been an election since she had attained her majority, so she hadn't dealt with that yet.

Susan continued, "Shall we all go off in a half hour or so? It's too early for me." Flora and Ranko echoed agreement, and everyone headed for their rooms.

Tish looked up from reading at her desk as Ranko came in. "_O-kaeri nasai._"

Ranko smiled. It was nice to have someone who understood Japanese family life, someone to share the everyday rituals with. "_Tadaima._" She blinked. "_Wait a minute… aren't you going to go watch this debate?_"

Tish shrugged. "_I already know who I'm going to vote for. Besides, I have to study. This part is making me crazy._" Her eyes took on a glassy quality, and Ranko was again unpleasantly reminded of Kunou Kodachi. "Ah have always depended on the kindness of strangers…"

Ranko blinked. "Huh?" Tish had the odd tendency to abruptly metamorphose into someone else, which Ranko supposed was a useful quality in an actress. Sometimes she wondered if she knew who the real Tish Williams was.

Tish laughed. "A Streetcar Named Desire, Tennessee Williams—no relation. I'm Blanche Dubois next week. How was your day?"

Ranko's head spun a little from the conversational and linguistic pinball. "All right. I worked on a Haydn string quartet this morning. That went well. I worked with Jean-Pierre on a Dvořák violin sonata this afternoon." She paused. "That did not go as well. And I stopped by the employment office again." She sagged.

Tish clucked in sympathy. "Still no luck?" Ranko nodded glumly. "Well, I'm sure you'll get another chance." Ranko nodded, and Tish turned back to her studying. The redhead went to put away her violin and backpack, then sat down heavily at her own desk.

The sad thing was, she'd had a job lined up. There had been an opening for a kitchen assistant in the cafeteria, and she'd gone to interview. It had looked very promising, until the head chef had asked her to demonstrate her kitchen skills. Without thinking, she'd proceeded to slice some vegetables the way she always did—namely, with a healthy dose of Anything-Goes Martial Arts.

The sight of vegetables flying through the air and knives spinning at high speed had unnerved the man, and that had been the end of that. What's more, word must have gotten around, because job leads at the school had mysteriously vanished. Since her visa restricted her to working on campus for her first (and only) year, she was out of luck unless the office managed to convince someone to give her a chance.

She wasn't in dire straits, as Nabiki-neechan was keeping her bank account back home from drying up. But she wanted to pull her own weight, and refused to spend money on non-essentials until she could pay for them from her own wages. Which might be never, at this rate. She was starting to suffer acute hot fudge sundae withdrawal, and she needed to buy some clothes to supplement the rather minimal set she'd brought with her.

She wasn't having much luck finding a sparring partner, either. Her ad had drawn nothing, and a visit to a nearby dojo had been a waste—even the master had been no challenge for her. He hadn't even had any experience in aerial combat! He'd offered her a job as an instructor, but her visa didn't allow that, and she'd had to turn him down.

A perusal of the telephone book had turned up a few other dojos close enough to be practical for daily practice, and she needed to go check them out. She wasn't terribly hopeful. At this rate, her martial arts skills would deteriorate further by the time she went home.

She idly opened her notebook computer's lid, waking it up, and checked for new e-mail, not really expecting anything. She was surprised to hear the signal for a new message. As she scanned the screen, her eyes lit up. She hurriedly opened the e-mail.

_To: Ranko Saotome [rsaotome at juilliard dot edu]_

_From: Ryouga Hibiki [rhibiki at neriinko dot ne dot jp]_

_Date: Thursday, September 23, 2004 10:53 PM_

_Subject: Got a computer_

_Hey there, Nabiki finally dragged me out shopping. Got the same kind as you. Still figuring it out. She also found me a cheap ISP, Nerima Internet Coop. I'll talk to you Sunday._

_Love,_

_Ryouga_

Ranko smiled; Ryouga wasn't much of a correspondent, and it looked like the computer wasn't going to change that. Still, it was nice to have a way to send him little notes all through the week. Assuming he remembered to check his e-mail regularly…

She noticed the message light blinking on her answering machine, and pushed the button, curious. "_Saotome-san, this is Taneoka Eimi. I had a short vacation back home, and I just now got back to New York and picked up your voicemail; this phone number only works in America._

"_This time I already had plans, but I'll be back in town next Thursday night, a week from today, and I have a break through the weekend then; my return flight is Monday noon. I'd love to get together with you if you're free. I can come meet you at Lincoln Center, that's no problem. Call me or leave me voicemail and let me know when would be good. Maybe Friday night, after school? I'm looking forward to hearing from you. Bye._" The message ended.

Ranko felt eyes on her back, and turned around to find Tish smiling at her. She smiled back.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Hibiki residence."<p>

Ranko smiled at Ryouga's photograph in her collage. "Hi, it's me."

There was a short pause, then, "Hi." It was amazing how much could be conveyed by one short word: the smile in the photo seemed to grow a little brighter. "Good morning… well, good evening, I guess. It's Saturday night there, right?"

"Mm hmm."

"How was school this week?"

"OK. It's the same old story, though. I seem to be going around in circles on expressing emotions. Other than that, it's great. I'm having a wonderful time working on chamber music this term with the other students. Even Mr. Jerk." She heard a laugh. "How about you?"

"School's fine. The computer's kinda handy for writing papers. I'm gonna start looking for a dojo in a few weeks. I really want to open my own place and teach my own style, but Nabiki says I can't swing it financially on my own, at least not at first."

Ranko bit her tongue. Naturally, the first time they'd discussed this she'd thought of Ryouga teaching with Akane, and had suggested that. Uncle Souun had said that the Tendou Dojo had to remain a family business, though, and Ryouga wasn't all that interested in teaching another family's school. Ranko thought they were both being stubborn idiots, but she'd decided to let it lie. "I'm sure you'll find something. You're the best."

He laughed. "Your sister might have something to say about that. But thanks." There was a short pause. "Of course, you could still cream both of us if you trained like you used to. You were in a class by yourself."

She laughed; to Ryouga it always sounded like bells ringing. "Ryouga, you don't have to worry about my ego. I made my decisions, and I'm very, very happy. I have my music, I still have the Art, and… and I have you." She was blushing. "And Akane. And… I have _me_; I'm myself. I couldn't ask for a better life. I'm quite content to leave the title of top martial artist to you two." An impish grin came over her face. "Are you guys going to have a duel to see who's the best?"

She heard a snort. "I've outgrown that kind of thing too, y'know."

"I know. We're all responsible adults now." She stuck her tongue out. "How boring." They both laughed. "But I like it boring. I've had enough craziness to last a lifetime."

"Did you talk to your family yet?"

Ranko nodded, though she was alone. "Yes, I called them first. Everyone is doing fine. Akane is starting to work on a budget for the Dojo. Nabiki-neechan still hates her job; actually, I think she hates it even worse."

"I could tell when we went computer shopping. Touchy. I think it inspired her; she got an even better deal than she did with yours. Man, she can be bloodthirsty when she negotiates."

"Mmm."

"How about Kasumi?"

Ranko frowned. "You know, she couldn't even come to the phone. She has some big exam this week she's cramming for. Akane says she's been holed up in her room all week." She paused. "Akane has been… cooking."

"I'm sure that's been popular. I'm glad I didn't go over there this week."

She giggled. "Well, at least it's edible these days. Akane says Nabiki-neechan griped the first night, and Akane told her she was welcome to make dinner herself instead." They both laughed. "She's been making a lot of curry; it's not bad at all." Ranko's eyes went to the family portrait and sought out her twin sister. "I'm glad she's not so anxious to prove herself in the kitchen these days. She has so much more self-confidence now."

"How's your folks?"

Ranko smiled. "Oh, Father and Uncle Souun are the same as always. I'm starting to detect a note of respect in Father's voice when he talks about Akane, though. He doesn't disparage her skills quite as thoroughly. He only calls her an amateur every couple of minutes." She laughed. "Mother called earlier. She's enjoying her part-time job at the library. She's starting to get really excited about the wedding, too. I hardly have time to think about it, but she's knee deep in magazines and menus and things like that. She says we're going to have to start thinking about the guest list soon, and what kind of ceremony we want. Japanese, Western, or both."

There was a short pause from the other end. "Guest list? That's… gonna be hard. Most everyone in my family has my sense of direction. I don't know if we can get in touch with them all. Maybe we can put an ad in the newspaper or something. I'd better tell Dad to get started right away."

Ranko sighed. "I don't have a lot of family to begin with. There's the Tendous, cousin Hiromi and her family, and my mother's cousin and her family." She brightened. "But we both have a lot of friends, from high school and junior high."

"Yeah. I think our junior high friends are in for a big surprise, though. I bet they never attended the wedding of two of their classmates before." Ranko snickered. "Too bad the Amazons are going back to China when Shampoo graduates."

Ranko sat up straight, beaming, and bounced in her chair slightly. "Guess what? Shampoo sent me an e-mail. She told Cologne there was no way she was missing my wedding. They're going to stick around the extra two months."

"That doesn't surprise me. She's always known exactly what she wanted and gone after it." He chuckled. "Who would have thought it, huh? Shampoo, the airhead bimbo, a Political Science major at Tokyo University. And I bet she graduates with honors, too."

Ranko smiled. "I'm very proud of her. We've all changed a lot, haven't we?"

"You've definitely changed for the better. You're much more cuddly this way."

"I expect you to prove that when I come home for New Year's, Mister." She was glad Ryouga couldn't see the hot blush that covered her face.

"You can count on it."

They spent a few seconds quietly sharing that thought, even though they were on opposite sides of the planet. Ranko leaned back in her desk chair. "I guess that's all the news from me."

"Not much else here. Dad's GPS battery died and we didn't see him for a couple days. I wish he'd remember to take a spare. He's got another inspection coming up, so I guess he'll be gone for a month or so."

Ranko smiled. "How's your mother?"

There was a pause. "I think Mom is a little jealous about your mom planning the wedding. I've caught her looking at me funny a couple of times when I've been in my girl form. I think a part of her wishes 'Ryouko-chan' were real."

Ranko thought back to the parallel world where she'd met her male counterpart, Ranma, and an alternate version of her mother. "I understand how she feels. When she sees you in your girl form, she's seeing the daughter she never had. I'm sure she's glad you're her son, but try to forgive her for being a little wistful when you're a girl."

"As long as she doesn't want me to pick out a wedding dress, too." They both laughed.

Ranko yawned suddenly. "Oh gosh, excuse me."

"I should let you go, it's late there."

"OK." She smiled a warm smile. "I love you, Ryouga."

"I love you too, honey. Bye."

"Bye." Ranko paused a moment, then hung up. She slowly got up, then stretched. She went to the dresser and pulled out her pajamas, intending to get ready for bed. Suddenly she frowned. She'd mentioned the ceremony, but they'd gotten sidetracked. She'd have to make sure to talk to him about it next week. She wanted Western, Mother wanted Japanese, and she was pretty sure she was going to get stuck doing both. Her thoughts wandered, and an absent-minded smile came over her face as she thought about the dress she had her eye on…

The door to their room opened, and Tish made her way in. Ranko snapped out of her daydream to greet her roommate: "_O-kaeri nasai._" Tish didn't respond; she seemed preoccupied.

Ranko furrowed her brow. "How was your show?" she asked, in English.

Tish blinked. "Huh? Oh, the show." Her attention seemed to focus. "It was fine, we all had a great time. You really should have come; it's a great musical. I mean, it's just people dressed up as cats, singing and dancing."

Ranko shuddered. "N-no… no, I… umm… it's OK." Tish nodded slowly.

Ranko turned and started to undress. Tish regarded her intently for a few seconds, then started on her own bedtime preparations.

* * *

><p>Standing in the wings, Ranko looked out over the audience in Alice Tully hall as she and Professor Vasilev listened to Claire Hellman and Antonio Rossi play Brahms' Violin Sonata #2. The School gave chamber music recitals every Wednesday afternoon at 1 PM, and today was the season opener. The audience was mostly retirees and music fans taking a late lunch; the hall was about a third full, even with free tickets.<p>

Claire was also a very talented violinist, but unlike that girl back in Tokyo she and Ranko got along fine. They were mostly competing with themselves, rather than each other, though there was a touch of friendly rivalry. Claire and Tony were both quite good, and the audience was rapt.

She and Jean-Pierre would be on stage in a few minutes, playing the Dvořák Sonatina in G major. It was an emotional piece, full of shifting moods—exactly the kind of thing that gave her the most trouble. This time wasn't likely to be different, but she had to keep trying. At some point, she was sure, she would gain the insight she needed to lick her problem.

Jean-Pierre came up beside her, smartly dressed in his formal wear. He ran an appreciative eye over her form. "Nice gown." His smile was somewhat more than friendly.

Ranko had learned to cope with the non-stop flirting; she merely smiled. "Thank you. I think maybe I need get a new one soon. This one is five years old." Since she'd grown so little, she'd only had to let out the hem on her green formal gown once, but any piece of clothing worn frequently for five years had to wear out eventually. She wasn't thrilled; the gown was kind of like a good-luck charm for her. Not that it was really working.

Just then Claire and Tony finished, and the audience applauded enthusiastically. Professor Vasilev interjected, "Remember, Ranko-chan, try to focus on expression. Your technique is fine; let your reflexes take care of that part."

Ranko nodded, and she and Jean-Pierre watched as Claire and Tony made two curtain calls, then walked off to the opposite wings. It was their cue. Ranko strode confidently out of the wings; she had been performing for a few years now, and it was second nature for her to be on stage. Jean-Pierre followed close behind her.

The two of them walked to center stage, Ranko carrying her Lott "del Gesù" violin and her bow. They paused a moment to acknowledge the audience's polite applause. Jean-Pierre seated himself at the piano, and struck a few chords while Ranko tuned her violin. When she was done, they looked at each other for a moment, and began.

She tried her utmost to keep focused on the wonderful, lively character of the music; as Professor Vasilev said, to leave the mechanics to her reflexes and work on bringing out the beauty. However, as they began the second movement, the Larghetto, she once again felt Jean-Pierre leaving her behind. Her playing was muted, leaden by comparison.

She pushed herself to match him, and as always it began to tax her. She walked a fine line between maintaining some life in the music and becoming so tense she risked losing control. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

Still, the lyricism of Jean-Pierre's playing and the air of intense interest from the audience drove her on. She tried to draw inspiration from the people who had come to hear them perform. She latched on to her feelings for this beautiful music and forced them out, her teeth clenched. She heard a mute echo of what she was feeling coming from her violin, and counted it a success.

The piece was only about eighteen minutes long, but by the time they were done she was exhausted. She had turned in a credible performance, but she couldn't keep playing like this. There was no way she could last through a thirty minute concerto this way.

The audience was genuinely enthusiastic; there were calls of both "Bravo!" and "Brava!" from here and there. While she had only done a fair job of bringing the music to life, as always her technique had been flawless: crisp and precise. There was always a certain segment of the audience who appreciated that. And Jean-Pierre's performance had been wonderful. She still found him annoying, but she certainly couldn't ask for a better piano partner. All in all, she was pleased; she smiled through her weariness. If only it weren't so difficult. If only she could make her playing as good as she wanted it to be without feeling like she was pushing a boulder up a hill. One that was always trying to roll back down and flatten her.

When they were done with their curtain calls, she exited the stage gracefully and with a smile, headed straight for the first chair she laid eyes on, and promptly collapsed into it.

Peter and Jean-Pierre blinked and rushed to her side, their eyes widening at the perspiration dampening her hair and elegant gown. "Ranko-chan, what happened?"

"You look like you ran a marathon, babe!"

She looked up at them and smiled weakly. "I must do my part. I did not want you have to play around me." She took a deep breath. "But it's very hard."

Peter was shaking his head. "That was better, no doubt about it, but I've never seen anything like this. I just don't understand. The best playing comes when you're relaxed, at ease. I've never seen anyone play better when they're straining themselves."

Ranko was gingerly turning her head from side to side, wincing as she did so. Jean-Pierre went to stand behind her, lifted his hands to her shoulders, then stopped. She looked up at him for a moment, hesitated, then nodded, and he started to massage her shoulders. He bit his lip as he felt the tight, bunched muscles under his fingertips. Ranko let out a long sigh, and started to relax.

Meanwhile, Peter stared at nothing in particular, trying to puzzle out the meaning of what he'd just witnessed. This young lady certainly seemed to break all the rules he was familiar with.

Jean-Pierre smiled as he kneaded her shoulders. "You did great, babe. Soon it won't be so hard, eh?"

Ranko nodded drowsily, unconvinced. "Mmm."

Jean-Pierre continued his ministrations for a minute or two, until Ranko felt herself start to nod off. She shook herself. "Umm, that is OK. You can stop now. Thank you, Jean-Pierre."

Jean-Pierre grinned. "Are you sure? I can continue this indefinitely."

Ranko felt warm; it must be from the great effort she had expended. "No, that will not be necessary." She looked askance at him as he favored her with an innocent smile.

* * *

><p>Ranko gingerly pulled the door to their room closed behind her, trying to be quiet in case Tish was already asleep. She was looking forward to being asleep herself; she was still tired from the previous day, and was looking forward to their meeting with Taneoka Eimi tomorrow. She turned off her desk light and climbed into her loft bed.<p>

"_O-yasumi nasai_," called Tish, and Ranko responded in kind.

It was quiet for a moment, then Tish asked, "_What do you want to do with Taneoka-san tomorrow night?_"

Ranko looked over to the dark silhouette in the other bunk. "_I don't know. Maybe dinner somewhere, then maybe we could go to one of those fancy ice cream places downtown for dessert?_"

"_That'll be nice. I guess we can decide on a place for dinner when she meets us._"

"_Mmm hmm._"

There was silence for a while, and Ranko was starting to feel sleepy, when Tish's voice came again. "_Ranko?_"

"_Mmm?_"

"_Your fiancé's name is Ryouga, right?_"

"_Uh-huh. Hibiki Ryouga._"

There was a long pause. "_What's he like? If you don't mind my asking._"

Ranko put her arms behind her head and smiled at the ceiling. "_He's wonderful. Kind, considerate, generous, loving. He's great with kids. He's even willing to take care of our kids so I can work and travel for my career._"

Tish digested that. "_Does he have any… umm… hobbies?_"

Ranko blinked. "_No… not really. He loves martial arts; he's going to run a dojo, and we'll live there. I guess when he's not practicing martial arts he likes other sports, too._" She smiled. "_He's become a big Tokyo Giants fan the last few years. He loves the ocean, too; we often go to the beach in summer. He really likes to swim._"

Tish teased, "_Judging from his picture, I bet he looks real cute in a bathing suit._"

She couldn't see the wicked grin on Ranko's face. "_Oh, even cuter than you'd imagine from the picture._" _Especially in that black and yellow X-back I helped… her pick out. _"_Why the questions?_"

"_Oh, ah, just curious, I guess. You sound so happy whenever you talk about him._"

Ranko closed her eyes and smiled. "_I am. I feel very lucky that we fell in love._"

"_Didn't you say you guys fought when you first met?_"

Ranko's smile dimmed. "_Umm, yes. I… I used to, umm, tease him, and he didn't take that very well._" She sighed. "_I hadn't really meant to, and… and eventually we sort of got to be friends, though neither of us would admit it._" Her eyes unfocused. "_Then, things kind of, uh, changed. We, umm, saw each other differently, and we just… fell in love._"

Tish grinned. "_You do realize that's impossibly romantic, don't you?_"

Ranko smiled. "_I guess._"

Tish hesitated for a moment. "_So… have you… umm…_"

Ranko blushed crimson. "_N-no. Not yet._"

"_I'm sorry… I didn't mean to…_"

"_No… it's OK. I don't mind." She paused. "I guess… we both still live with our families, so we have hardly any privacy, and… we're both really shy. I mean, we've gone past kissing sometimes, but not… that. We've talked about it a few times, but we've never had the opportunity. I… I didn't want to go to a love hotel or someplace._" She blushed again. "_I didn't want our first time to be in a place like that._"

Tish's voice was filled with mock accusation. "_Ah-ha! You __**are**_ _a romantic!_"

Ranko smiled softly. "_Yeah, I guess so._" She paused for a moment, pondering. Tish had seemed pained about her romantic history… maybe it was best not to ask.

She didn't have to. "_You're lucky. I haven't found Mr. Right yet. I haven't even found Mr. Maybe. These days I'm thinking of looking for Mr. Oh Well._"

"_But Tish… you're so nice!_"

"_Maybe. Nice… but weird._" She laughed. "_I should let you get to sleep. It's getting late._"

_Ha. She think's __**she's**_ _weird. _"_I guess I do have to get up to practice. But if you want to talk about it some more some other time…_"

Tish smiled. "_Thanks. I might just take you up on that. Good night._"

"_Good night._"

* * *

><p>Ranko pounced when the phone rang. "Hello?"<p>

"Ms. Saotome?"

"Yes?"

"This is Tom Jefferson. I have a Ms. Tannyoga down here who says she's come to visit."

"Thank you, Mr. Jefferson. You can let her come up."

She hung up and turned to face Tish. "She has just got here. She's coming up now."

Tish smiled. "This should be fun." Ranko nodded and smiled as well. "Why don't we go out and wait in the living room?"

They both took their purses and went out to sit on the sofa that they shared with all their suitemates. Megan, on her way back to her room from the bathroom, stopped and smiled. "Y'all waitin' for a streetcar?"

Ranko laughed. "No, a friend is coming here. I met her on the airplane on the way to New York."

Just then the door chime sounded, and Ranko jumped up and went to the door. She opened it… and blinked. Eimi stood before her, smiling, but…

Gone was the austere flight attendant's uniform; Eimi was wearing a rather slinky top with a sweater thrown over her shoulders, and capri pants, all of which looked expensive. Ranko's eyebrows shot up as she recognized the Louis Vuitton handbag, and she winced inwardly as she realized how much it must cost. The hair was out of its bun and flowing freely over Eimi's shoulders… and was dyed brown. If she'd passed Eimi on the street she would never have recognized her.

Ranko's nice slacks and sweater suddenly seemed like a burlap sack. She fought down the feeling; she had her own style she was comfortable with. Besides, she couldn't afford to spend that much money on clothes and didn't want to, though many Japanese women her age did. She put on a smile and bowed. "_Good evening, Taneoka-san! I'm very glad to see you again._"

Eimi bowed. "_It's good to see you again as well, Saotome-san. I'm sorry to intrude._"

"_Not at all. Won't you come in?_" Ranko gestured, and Eimi came in. Ranko closed the door behind her.

Susan and Hannah had popped out as well and were watching curiously. Ranko switched to English to be polite. "Taneoka-san, these are my roommates, Tish Williams—I told you about her on the phone—Megan Johnson, Susan Burnes, and Hannah Bennett." She gestured at each young woman in turn with her open palm. "Everyone, this is Eimi Taneoka. She is a friend I met on the airplane to New York."

Eimi smiled and waved. "Hi everyone! It's nice to meet you." Ranko's roommates responded with a chorus of greetings.

Tish stood and bowed. "_It's a pleasure to meet you, Taneoka-san. My name is Tish Williams._"

Eimi returned Tish's bow without missing a beat. "_The pleasure is mine, Tish-san._"

Ranko added, "Taneoka-san, Tish, and I will be going out to dinner together."

"Ahh," said Megan, nodding archly. "The Japanese contingent." Tish blinked, a look of surprise flashing briefly across her face.

Eimi grinned. "The Japanese contingent?"

Megan grinned as well. "Yeah. The two of 'em are always yakkin' away in Japanese. Lord knows what about; Ah can't understand a word."

Tish folded her arms and stamped her foot. "_We do not yak in Japanese!_"

Ranko giggled. "_I have no idea what she's talking about, either._"

Eimi laughed. "_I see… I think._"

Megan shrugged elaborately. "See? Now we got three of 'em." Suddenly her eyes widened and a goofy grin spread over her features. "I guess the total sum is now three little maids!" Susan burst out laughing, and the two of them started to sing:

"Three little maids from school are we, Pert as a schoolgirl well can be, Filled to the brim with girlish glee-_ee_, Three little maids from school!" Eimi was looking mystified, but Tish, Ranko, and Hannah were all laughing.

"One little maid is a bride, Yum-Yum," and here Susan pointed at Ranko, who blushed very prettily indeed. "Two little maids in attendance come," Megan and Susan gestured at Tish and Eimi, "Three little maids is the total sum, Three little maids from school!" Susan and Megan finished up, and bowed with a flourish as everyone else applauded.

"Very nice—but I don't understand," added Eimi.

Ranko, as a musician, was familiar with the works of Sir Arthur Sullivan. She explained as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "It is from nineteenth century operetta, _The Mikado_, by William Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan." She'd found _The Mikado _mightily confusing, and not a little offensive, until Professor Murata had explained that, appearances notwithstanding, it was really about nineteenth-century England and not Japan.

Eimi nodded slowly; she'd heard the names, but never any of the music. "I see what you mean. Three little maids from school?" She laughed. "But I haven't gone to school in a few years!"

Tish added, "And I'm not very little, am I?"

Ranko thought, _And I wasn't always a maid, _but smiled sweetly and said nothing.

* * *

><p>"<em>No way!<em>" said Tish. "_You've got to be kidding!_" She folded her arms on the table and leaned forward.

Eimi shook her head. "_Way._" She leaned back, her hands in her lap.

"_You can't get a Louis Vuitton handbag at that price!_" Ranko nodded her agreement with Tish. She wasn't much of a name brand connoisseur, but even she knew that much.

Eimi grinned. "_You can on the lower East side. I'll have to take you guys down there some time. You can get all sorts of stuff as much as half off if you keep an eye open, sometimes more. I head there every two or three weeks to look around. It's a Japanese woman's dream._" She snickered. "_I would never buy this stuff in Tokyo. The prices are outrageous._"

Tish nodded thoughtfully. "_I never went down there when my family lived here. I was still in high school, and we lived on the upper West side. I was too busy taking care of my little brother then to go shopping a lot. Without my mom around, I was the woman of the house._"

Eimi looked sympathetic. "_Did your mother pass away? I'm sorry._"

Tish shook her head. "_No, she just… left._" Her face was grim.

Eimi's hand shot to her mouth as she blushed deeply. "_I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to…_"

Tish smiled. "_It's OK, Taneoka-san. I appreciate the thought._" Eimi was still blushing.

"Excuse me?" They turned to find their waitress eyeing them doubtfully. She spoke loudly and very slowly: "Are you ready to order now?" She looked hopefully at Tish. "You speak English, right?"

Tish's face took on a panicky expression, and she waved her hands frantically. "No Engrish! No Engrish!"

Ranko and Eimi both clapped their hands over their mouths. Eimi managed to get control of herself, as Ranko continued to wheeze into her palm. "I'm afraid our friend here is Japanese. She doesn't speak any English. We'll interpret for her."

The waitress nodded slowly, staring at the young black woman in question, and noting the evident lack of comprehension in her eyes. "I… see." She shook herself. "Are you ready to order, Miss?"

Eimi nodded. "Yes, I'll have the eggplant parmesan."

The waitress nodded and wrote on her pad. She turned to Ranko. "And you, Miss?"

Ranko glanced at the menu again. "I would like the Cioppino, and also the spaghetti Bolognese."

The waitress blinked. "I'm sorry… did you say the Cioppino, _and _the Bolognese?"

Ranko nodded happily. "That's correct." Eimi gave silent thanks that they were going Dutch tonight.

"That's two big portions, Miss. Are you sure you want that much?"

Ranko frowned. "Yes, I am pretty sure. If I'm still hungry when I finish, I will just order again."

The waitress stood perfectly still for a beat, then dutifully recorded Ranko's order. She turned hesitantly to Tish.

Eimi asked, "_What would you like to order, Tish-san?_"

Tish tilted her head. "_I think I'll have the baked manicotti._"

Eimi turned to the waitress. "She'll have the baked manicotti." The waitress wrote the order down, excused herself, and left, shaking her head.

Eimi turned to Ranko. "_You seem kind of… hungry tonight._"

Ranko blushed. "_I work out for an hour every day. When I was doing it all day I ate more than this._"

Eimi shook her head. "_I use up a lot of energy dancing, but if I ate like that I'd be a blimp._"

Ranko smiled. "_That's right, you said you liked to dance. What kind?_"

"_Mostly tap. A little ballet, too, but mostly tap._" She smiled. "_It's a great way to work off stress._"

Tish leaned forward. "_Where do you go to dance?_"

Eimi looked up and to the side. "_If I'm in New York, there's a little studio not far from the apartment I use. If I'm in Tokyo there's a place in Chiba, in the city, near where I live._"

Tish brightened. "_That's right near Narita, isn't it?_"

Eimi nodded. "_It's a twenty minute train ride. It's very convenient for me, and it's not too far from Tokyo, either._" She paused for a moment. "_I hope you won't think me rude, but your Japanese is so flawless I just have to know why._"

Tish shook her head and waved her hand. "_I'm getting rusty, actually._" She leaned back in her seat and thought for a moment. "_I grew up in Japan. We lived there from when I was four until I was twelve. I went to Japanese schools, from kindergarten through my first year of junior high. My friends were all Japanese._"

"_Wow,_" breathed Eimi. "_No wonder you speak Japanese like a native. It must have been an amazing experience!_"

Tish's eyes were looking at something else. "_Yeah. I guess it was._" Her eyes focused on Eimi and seemed to say, _Not yet. I don't know you well enough._

Eimi nodded slowly. "_Well, you'll have to tell me about it some time._" She was gratified to see Tish relax ever so slightly.

She turned to Ranko. "_I'd love to hear about your martial arts. How long have you been practicing them?_"

The exchange between Eimi and Tish hadn't been totally lost on Ranko. "_Umm… since I was four years old. My father took me on a training trip, all over Japan and China. I basically did nothing but train constantly. I became a top martial artist, but the rest of my life sort of went on the back burner._"

"_So what happened? Why did you become a violinist?_"

Eimi noticed as Ranko's eyes broke contact and started to wander; her body seemed tense slightly. "_I… I, umm, finally met my mother again when I was sixteen. That forced me to, umm, examine my life, and… and I decided I didn't like the way it was going. My mother helped me figure out what I, umm, wanted to do._" Now Ranko smiled a little, and seemed to relax. "_I had started going to school more regularly, and I took a music class my junior year in high school, and I happened to try the violin. I fell in love with it pretty quickly._" Eimi watched the smile broaden into a grin, and the tension vanish.

"_But you still practice martial arts, right?_"

Ranko nodded earnestly. "_Oh, absolutely. I could never give it up completely._" She sighed. "_I wish I hadn't gone on that training trip, but I'm glad I learned the Art. It's still a big part of my life._" She smiled.

Just then the salads arrived, and the conversation was put on hold. As the waitress bustled about serving them, Eimi thought back over the past twenty minutes or so. She considered her own life to be pretty ordinary, though many of her friends envied her her career. She had the feeling, though, that these two had had anything but ordinary lives.

Her eyes moved back and forth between the two roommates as they all put their napkins in their laps. _Secrets. They both have secrets they're too afraid to share. Maybe some day, we'll be good enough friends they won't be afraid any more._

* * *

><p>The three of them rejoined the throngs on Broadway, heading south towards the nearest subway stop so they could catch a train to one of the ice cream parlors further downtown. Ranko had decided that two entrees were enough, as she wanted to save room for dessert.<p>

It was a Friday night, the weather was not too nippy, and it seemed like there were young people everywhere, out having a good time. They weaved their way through the crowd as they strolled along the sidewalk, continuing the dinner conversation.

Tish asked, "_So do you visit London a lot?_"

Eimi smiled. "_Well, when I was on that route I did. But I've been on the New York route for a year now. I haven't been to London recently._"

Ranko interjected, "_But you get to travel free, right?_"

Eimi nodded. "_I do, but I've been using my time off to go other places. I went to Thailand last spring._" Her face lit up. "_It was beautiful. So lush, and all the temples and other sights. I had a great time._"

Ranko was getting interested; despite her travels, she and her father had pretty much stuck to Japan and China. She hadn't even been to Korea. "_Where have you been? It sounds exciting._"

Eimi tilted her head. "_Let me see… London and Bangkok, and Beijing, New Delhi, Frankfurt, Paris, Madrid, Rome, Athens…_" She frowned slightly. "_Those are the ones that stick in my mind, anyway._"

Tish was rapt as well. "_Rome? What was it like?_"

Eimi laughed. "_Noisy, smelly, crazy… wonderful. Full of history and life._" She grinned conspiratorially. "_I took a taxi there, and I thought my life was going to—_"

Just then a young man pushed past them, and Eimi stumbled, as if she'd lost her balance; Ranko moved to catch her and keep her from falling. She looked confused, then clutched wildly at her shoulder. "_My bag!_" she shrieked. "_It's gone! My passport and wallet…_"

Ranko's head whipped around, and she just spotted the man who had brushed past them; he was running now, and there was a flash of brown at his side that she was certain was Eimi's handbag. Her expression hardened. "_I'll get it back,_" she said in a grim, steely tone that neither of the other women had ever heard from her before. She handed her own bag to Tish. "_Take this, and call the police._"

"_What are you going to…_" began Tish, then trailed off. Both their jaws fell open.

Ranko had leapt… a good twenty feet up into the air. She sailed over the heads of the astonished pedestrians, and landed on the roof of a parked automobile. She craned her neck and looked ahead, then took off, ricocheting like a human pinball between the roofs of the parked cars and the walls of the buildings. At times she seemed to be running along the sheer vertical walls. She disappeared rapidly, leaving a trail of goggling onlookers in her wake. New Yorkers were a jaded lot, but to a person they gaped like small children at the circus.

"_That's… not… possible…_" whispered Tish. She shook herself and went for her cell phone as Eimi stared after the direction their friend had gone. The quiet, shy violinist who had suddenly turned into some kind of comic book superheroine.

Ranko landed on a fire escape and scouted. _And I almost wore a skirt and heels tonight… _"_There he is,_" she glowered, and took off again. She took one bounce off the pole of a streetlamp, narrowly missing the "I(heart)NY" banner, and somersaulted to land directly in the man's path. He was wearing a grimy jacket, combat pants, and sure enough, he had Eimi's bag under his arm. "You stole my friend's bag," she said coldly. "Give it to me."

The pedestrians around them backed away into a circle, murmuring among themselves. The young thief looked over the tiny Asian girl who had come out of nowhere. "Outta my way, little girl. I don't have time for games."

"Give me the bag. It does not belong to you."

The man scowled and turned to run. He blinked; she was still standing in front of him. Hadn't she been on his other side a second ago? The crowd was murmuring again.

"OK," he said. "Don't say I didn't warn ya." He pulled out a switchblade and popped it open; someone in the crowd shrieked, and the circle around them grew wider.

"Get lost and you won't get hurt, little girl."

Ranko smiled a nasty smile. "How do you think you will hurt me?"

"I got a knife, ya stupid broad!"

Ranko tilted her head. "Are you sure?" She held up his weapon, retracting the blade. Someone in the crowd snickered.

The punk gaped and looked to his hand; it was empty. How the hell had she done that? He tossed the bag at her and tried to take off.

She was in front of him again. "I think we are going to wait here for the police."

He tried to run again, and found himself on the ground. A moment later his hands were bound behind his back with his own belt. The crowd burst into applause, whistles, and cheers. Ranko blushed in embarrassment.

She slung Eimi's bag over her shoulder, and stood there, waiting, while the thief just sat there, staring at her in disbelief. The crowd started to disperse, though a few people hung around for the denouement.

After a few minutes Tish, Eimi, and a policeman pushed through the crowd; the patrolman had his gun drawn. Tish and Eimi gasped at the sight of Ranko standing there calmly with Eimi's bag, the young man who had stolen it sitting sullenly with his arms bound behind his back.

The policeman warily ran his eyes over the scene. "Drop the knife, Miss." It was closed, but that could change in a moment.

Ranko blinked, but nodded, and slowly kneeled to place the knife on the sidewalk.

One of the hangers-on, a middle-aged man, piped up, "Officer, that punk pulled the knife on her. She disarmed him." A couple of other people chimed in their agreement. Ranko was suddenly glad for the witnesses; she hadn't thought this far ahead.

The policeman nodded. It seemed obvious what had happened… but he'd been trained not to jump to conclusions. He lowered his weapon. "All right. As soon as my backup gets here, we'll take statements. The witnesses will have to stick around." There were a couple of irritated moans.

"Are you all right?" blurted Tish.

Ranko nodded, and examined her feet. "I think I broke my nice penny loafers, though." She sighed; she hadn't thought to take them off and hand them to Tish with her bag.

"I'll buy you a new pair," said Eimi promptly.

The patrolman noticed the anxious expression on the young redhead's face. "Don't worry, Miss. From the look of things, I don't think you have anything to worry about. But I'm going to have to take you all in to the station."

* * *

><p>At 3:25 AM, the plazas in Lincoln Center were vacant of life. The traffic on Broadway had dwindled to a trickle; the streets stood deserted for minutes at a time, until a lone car or bus sped by. The traffic lights marched through their cycles, an unending rhythm without an audience.<p>

A bright moon shone down on the sidewalks and plazas, trying to soften the harsh yellow of the sodium vapor lamps, with scant success. The bitter chill of the night air cut like a knife, seeming to freeze the very sound out of the air, displacing it with an immense silence that was a palpable presence. Those few pedestrians who braved the chill hurried on their way, unwilling to linger in the emptiness.

An NYPD patrol car made a U-turn in the intersection, and quietly pulled over at the corner of Broadway and 65th street, the squawk of its radio breaking the spell. A policeman got out and came around to open the rear door next to the curb. "Sorry," he grinned, "this taxicab is a little harder to get out of than most."

Three bleary-eyed young women piled out. One of them, a redhead, said "Thank you for the ride, Officer."

He smiled. "No problem. We didn't wanna send you ladies home on foot in the middle of the night." He eyed Ranko, and gave a short laugh. "Maybe that's kinda silly, considering Ms. Saotome here, but…"

Tish and Eimi both looked to their friend, and Ranko suddenly developed an intense interest in her feet. "Thank you."

He smiled. "No, thank _you_. This has been the most entertaining night at the station in a while." Ranko blushed. "Take care now." The three girls waved, and he waved back as he got in the cruiser and drove off. They stood for a moment, contemplating the desolation, then turned and crossed the plaza towards the Rose building.

Eimi yawned. "_Thanks for letting me crash tonight._"

Tish _tsked_. "_Don't be silly. It's a long way out to Brooklyn, and you've already been mugged once tonight._" They all laughed.

Eimi smiled at Ranko. "_And thank you for getting my bag back. I still can't believe this whole evening. I didn't think a human being could actually do things like that._"

Ranko blushed yet again. She had been doing a lot of that this very long evening. Despite the corroborating eyewitness accounts, the folks at the police station had flatly refused to believe her story, until she'd given a demonstration of her skills. After that, the skepticism had turned to intense curiosity.

There had been plenty of time for demonstrations while waiting for the bureaucracy to be taken care of. The police, as well as Eimi and Tish, had looked on in disbelief as Ranko had run through her repertoire of skills. When she had drawn forth her ki staff for a quick demonstration, the room had fallen into total silence. When she'd demonstrated the ki mallet it was based on, eighteen jaws had fallen open in unison.

By the time the police were done with them she had received an offer to help instruct the patrol officers in martial arts. Due to her visa restrictions, she'd had to turn it down, to everyone's disappointment. The captain had informed her that since she was capable of deadly force in unarmed combat, she had to be registered; Ranko hadn't known about that provision of the law. They took her fingerprints and made her fill out some forms. They had asked all three of them for contact information and their travel schedules for when the young man Ranko had captured was brought to trial. They assured Ranko that she would be able to return home on schedule next June.

Finally… finally, they were allowed to go home.

They reached the Rose building, and Ranko held her purse against the access plate; the door unlatched, and they went inside. Tom Jefferson's shift was over; another security guard, a woman, was sitting at the desk in the lobby. She smiled. "Well, you ladies were out late carousing tonight."

Tish snorted. "Our friend had her purse stolen. We got it back, but we had to spend the evening 'carousing' at the police station."

The woman had the good grace to blush. "Sorry. That must have been awful. How did you get it back?"

Ranko blushed yet again as both her companions turned their eyes on her. Tish said, "Apparently my meek, mild-mannered roommate here is the world's best martial artist. She caught the guy."

Ranko exclaimed "Tish! I am not the world's best martial artist." She paused. "My father, my fiancé, and my sister are all better than me." There was a moment of silence as everyone digested that.

Ranko yawned loudly. "I want to go to sleep." The guard nodded, and they headed for the elevators.

A couple of minutes later, they quietly entered their suite. Ranko turned to Eimi. "_Eimi-san, you can sleep in my bed, and I'll sleep out here on the sofa._"

"_Nonsense!_" exclaimed Eimi. "_I'll sleep out here. I won't have you sleeping on a sofa after what you did for me tonight._"

Ranko nodded uncertainly, and they immediately set about getting ready for bed. Tish loaned Eimi a pair of her pajamas, as Ranko's would have been much too small. Eimi ducked back into the girls' room after changing in the bathroom, and found Ranko seated at her desk, her chin resting on her folded arms. She was staring at her photo collage. "_Is this your family?_"

Ranko nodded. "_I'm missing them more than usual tonight._"

"_Who's who?_"

Ranko proceeded to point out the members of her family to Eimi. Tish came in from brushing her teeth in the middle of this and watched. "_So your family are the best martial artists in the world?_"

Ranko shook her head. "_I don't know about that. Cologne is probably better than any of us._"

"'_Cologne'?_"

"_She's a one hundred fifty year old Chinese Amazon matriarch._"

"_One… hundred… fifty?…_"

"_Uh-huh. Just a minute…_" Ranko dug in her purse, and pulled out her photo wallet. She leafed through the pictures. "_Here she is._"

Eimi and Tish stared at the incredibly wizened, tiny old woman in the picture. She was without doubt the oldest living person either of them had ever seen. "_And this little old lady is a better martial artist than you?_"

Ranko nodded. "_Yes, she's incredibly skilled. She taught me many of my techniques, most of all my speed training. That's what I used to disarm that mugger._"

Tish and Eimi stared at the tiny figure in the photo. "_Who's the girl, with her hair dyed purple?_"

"_Oh, that's Shampoo, her great-granddaughter. It's not dyed, that's her natural color. She's a pretty good martial artist, too._"

Tish and Eimi considered this, as Ranko gave a huge yawn. "_Guys, it's almost 4. I need to get to bed. I'm going to have to skip practice tomorrow as it is._" She sighed. "_If this keeps up my skills are going to slide even more._" She got up and climbed into her loft bed.

Tish and Eimi looked at each other and blinked. _Slide… even… more?_

Eimi shook herself. "_Yeah. See you guys in the morning._" She headed off into the living room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Tish turned to get into bed, then turned back; Ranko had left her desk light on. She reached for the light, then stopped.

The photo wallet, still on the desk, had fallen open to another picture, taken at the beach. Ranko was in it, wearing a green and white one piece which set off her red hair very nicely.

The thing that had caught her eye, though, was the panda sitting with her. Just like that, a giant panda, sitting on the beach.

In a beach chair, actually.

Wearing a straw hat and sipping a lemonade. And reading a newspaper.

And wearing swim trunks.

Tish looked up to Ranko's bed, but her roommate was already making soft, regular breathing sounds. She looked back to the photo wallet, and turned the page. There was another beach photo, this time of Ranko with two other girls. One was the girl Ranko had referred to as her sister… Akane, that was it. The third girl had short black hair, and was wearing a black and yellow one piece suit; she had a matching black and yellow bandanna tied around her head. She was very pretty. The three of them were sitting together and laughing about something.

Tish's eyes moved up from the beach photo to the collage of Ranko's family. She scanned the faces, looking for a match for the other girl. Nothing. She was about to give up when her heart nearly stopped.

There was Ranko's fiancé, Ryouga, his arm around her. And he was wearing the same pattern bandanna in the same way.

Slowly, unwillingly, her eyes drifted back down to the beach picture, and the black-haired girl's face. Then back up to Ryouga's face. A shiver ran up her spine. Quickly, almost violently, she closed the photo wallet, then turned the light off and climbed into bed, her heart pounding.

She didn't fall asleep for a while.

* * *

><p>End Chapter 3<p>

Thursday, December 22, 2005

**Copyright Notice **

The characters and stories of Ranma ½ are Copyright © Rumiko Takahashi, and are used here without permission or license.

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.

This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.

This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Ranma ½ characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Ranma ½ as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

All original characters and story elements expressed herein are Copyright © 2002-2005 by the author.


	4. Chapter 4: Do You Know the Way?

Notes from Juilliard

By ClassicalGal

Chapter 4

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

Tish clutched her cell phone a little tighter. "Daddy, it's me."

"What is it, honey? You sound a little anxious. Are you OK?"

"Yes, Daddy, I'm fine."

"Can you make it quick, then? I have a class to teach in twenty minutes."

Tish looked around; there was no one within fifty feet of the spot where she sat, a concrete planter in the plaza. "Daddy, my roommate, Ranko Saotome?"

"Yes, I remember her."

"She… there's… there's something… weird about her."

She heard a long sigh from the other end. "Tish… are you playing amateur psychologist again?"

"I'm serious, Daddy!"

"OK, Tish. What's weird about her?"

"Well… she has these nightmares about cats sometimes. When I asked her about it, it was clear she's terrified of them. She didn't even want to go see 'Cats' with me!"

"Ailurophobia. It's not uncommon. So?"

"She's very nervous when she talks about her childhood. I think something happened to her and she doesn't want anyone to know."

"Physician, heal thyself."

Tish felt her cheeks grow warm. "Well, OK. There's more. I happened to overhear the tail end of a phone conversation she was having with her fiancé…"

"Tish!"

"I didn't mean to! I was about to open the door when I heard her talking, so I stopped; I wanted to let her finish her conversation in private. I went and sat on the sofa. I didn't mean to listen, but I could hear what she was saying."

"You really shouldn't relate what you overheard, but if it has you worried…"

"Well… it was bizarre. She was discussing her wedding with him, and out of the blue she starts talking about his 'girl form' and how his mother saw him as the daughter she never had, and how he should be nice to his mom when… when he was a girl. It made no sense at all." At least, she fervently hoped that it didn't make sense.

There was a pause. "Well… that's certainly odd. Maybe he's a cross-dresser. That's not unusual either, you know."

"I… I don't think that's it."

"Well, what else could it be? Is that all?"

Tish swallowed. "No. Her whole family are these superhuman martial artists, including her. I saw her jump twenty feet straight up in the air, with my own eyes!"

"Tish, that just means she's a superb athlete. That's not 'weird.'"

"Daddy, she can make a _bo _staff out of nothing. She just pulls it out of nowhere, like the light sabers in 'Star Wars.' She says she makes it from _ki_."

There was a short silence, then a long, low whistle. "Wow. My instructor used to talk about martial artists who could use _ki _back when I was taking classes in Japan. I wasn't sure whether to believe him, but I guess it's true. I'd sure like to see her do that some time—"

"Daddy!"

"OK, so she's unusually talented. But that's not weird, either."

"She goes to the beach with a giant panda, which drinks lemonade and reads the newspaper."

There was a moderate pause. "OK, score one. Anything else?"

Tish swallowed. "Daddy, I saw a picture in her photo wallet of a girl. This girl, she… she looks exactly like Ranko's fiancé. What if… what if, when she was talking about his 'girl form'…"

"She's his sister."

"Daddy, remember, she was talking about his mother seeing him as the 'daughter she never had.' He doesn't have a sister."

"So she's his cousin. Tish, you are letting your imagination run away with you. Again."

"But… what about the phone conversation?"

"Who knows? Maybe they were joking. Maybe he likes to wear a feather boa sometimes. Does it matter? It's their private business."

"But…"

"Tish, are you frightened of her? Does she seem unstable, or irrational, or unable to distinguish fantasy from reality, or prone to violence?"

Tish thought hard, and suddenly, a lot of her tension left her. "No. No, she's a very nice, kind, down-to-earth person. She seems to have her head screwed on straight, and she doesn't frighten me at all. She's a good friend."

"Tish, rule number one for any doctor, including psychiatrists: if it ain't broke, don't fix it. It sounds to me like she ain't broke. What's the fuss about?"

"But Daddy, it seems so strange…"

"Your imagination, Tish. Maybe you should be a playwright rather than an actress. And remember… no one is 'normal.' Everyone has their quirks. Maybe if you girls get to be close friends, you can tell each other about them."

Tish laughed, and relaxed further. "I guess you're right." She was starting to feel rather silly. "I don't know what I was thinking." She smiled warmly. "Thanks, Daddy. It's nice having a shrink for a father."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Anytime." There was a pause. "Family is half price. You'll get my bill in the mail."

They both had a good laugh.

* * *

><p>Ranko tilted her head and thought. "Maybe like this?" She raised her violin and tossed off a few phrases. She looked to her colleagues for their reactions.<p>

Sandy Cadwell peeked out from behind her double bass. The willowy brunette put a fist to her chin. "I'm not quite sure I see what you're getting at…"

Paul Edmund brightened. "Is this what you meant?" The heavy-set sophomore from Minnesota played two measures on his cello, then looked up, his eyes inquiring. He looked more like a linebacker than a cellist, but played like an angel.

Ranko sighed and shook her head. "No… no, not quite." She leaned against the wall of the small practice studio, her back resting on the white corkboard sound insulation, and pondered how to communicate her intent.

Jean-Pierre snapped his fingers. "You mean like this, yes?" He played a couple of phrases of the violin part on the baby grand he was seated at.

"Yes, yes," said Ranko. "That is it!"

"Ohh…" said Flora Ho, her roommate. "I get now, Ranko." Paul and Sandy nodded as well.

Ranko resisted the urge to tear her hair out. This was their second afternoon working together on Schubert's Piano Quintet in A, better known as "The Trout," and she was getting increasingly frustrated. She was having lots of ideas, but the other players couldn't hear what she was getting at… until Jean-Pierre translated for her. At least _someone _could tell what she was trying to say. _All I need is to perform with an interpreter and I'm set._

"I like that, let's give it a try," said Sandy, and they readied their instruments, waited a beat, and began to play. A few measures later, they stopped.

"I like it, too," said Paul. "That's a nice interpretation, Ranko." The others chimed in their agreement.

Ranko blushed slightly at the smile Jean-Pierre was wearing; it was a little too… possessive, for want of a better word. Ranko wasn't sure she wanted Jean-Pierre to be quite so proud of her; it implied too much.

Ranko flipped the pages on her music stand. "OK, if you like the way this part works now, maybe—" There was a muffled knock on the heavy, soundproof door, drawing everyone's attention. Professor Vasilev peered in through the small, square window.

The Russian expatriate opened the door and ducked in. "Everyone, could you spare Ranko-chan here for a few minutes? It won't take long."

Four pairs of curious eyes bore into Ranko's back as she followed her advisor out of the practice room, her violin still in hand. The door closed behind them. "What is it, Professor?"

Peter smiled. "There's someone here to see you, in my office. Come, let's hurry." They set off for the music department offices, as Ranko brooded over the way the quintet was going.

A couple of minutes later, Ranko followed Professor Vasilev into his office, and stopped short. Waiting for her was a shortish, balding, middle-aged man in a police uniform: Captain Weiler, from the precinct where she'd spent that unpleasant evening a week or so ago.

Ranko's irritation sank without a trace beneath the waves of a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Am I in trouble for what I did?"

Peter and Captain Weiler looked at each other and laughed. The captain shook his head. "No, Ms. Saotome, not at all. We're very grateful for what you did."

Ranko shook her head slowly as her anxiety eased. "Then… what is it?"

Peter cleared his throat. "Ranko-chan, didn't you once tell me that you see your martial arts as an art? I've heard you call it 'the Art' on occasion."

Ranko nodded earnestly. "Yes, I feel that way."

Peter smiled and sat on the edge of his cluttered desk, his long legs stuck out. Ranko was sure he would dislodge one of the many teetering stacks of paper there, but whether through luck or practice nothing happened. "Well, Captain Weiler and I have a proposal for you: to add martial arts to the Juilliard curriculum."

Ranko blinked. "I don't understand…"

Both men looked like the cat who ate the canary. "It's like this, Ms. Saotome. We really wanted you to help instruct our officers in martial arts, but your visa won't allow it. You have to work for Juilliard this year. Professor Vasilev and I thought that maybe we could come up with an arrangement where you worked for the school and taught martial arts."

Ranko raised an eyebrow. "Professor?…"

Peter reddened slightly. "Well, I know you need a part-time job, and Captain Weiler would very much like you to teach his people some of what you know. He looked into getting a visa exception for you, but the INS said that was not possible. However, they did say that if you worked for the school it would be OK." He laughed. "We're not really adding martial arts to the course catalog, but the business office was able to work out an arrangement where the police will pay Juilliard, and Juilliard will pay you. If you're interested."

Captain Weiler added, "I'd like you to teach one class a week, for an hour, and I'm willing to pay you $100 a class. It'll be folks from my precinct and one other, about fifteen men and women altogether. I'd like it to be on a weekday morning, if possible."

Ranko thought about that, and nodded slowly. "Would it be OK to have the class at 6 AM? If not, I'll be late for my studies."

Captain Weiler nodded. "Don't worry about that. It's volunteers only, and I had plenty of volunteers. I can have a car take you to the police gym and back, too, so you're on time for school." He shook his head. "Ms. Saotome, I know there's no way you can bring my people anywhere near the level you've reached in sixteen years of training, but if you can teach them one percent of what you showed us the other night, I'll count it as the best investment I ever made."

Ranko thought some more. "Do you have any tenth dan black belts in the class?"

Captain Weiler blinked. "Uh, a couple, yeah. They were the first to volunteer."

A smile slowly broke out on Ranko's face, like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. "OK!"

* * *

><p>"Uncle Saotome…" Akane stood next to the shogi table, holding a piece of paper. Her eyes might have been a little wet.<p>

The giant panda, without taking its eyes off the board, held up a sign. "_What is it?_"

Akane smiled. "I think you're going to want to read this. It's an e-mail from Ranko."

Another sign. "_Not now, Child._" Flip. "_I have your father on the run._" Souun snorted.

Akane knew what was on his mind. "I'll watch the board for you. I really think you'll enjoy this."

The panda sat back in its chair, which creaked perilously. "_All right. Keep a close watch._"

Akane nodded, and handed the printout to the panda, which held it delicately in the claws of one paw. She turned her scrutiny on her father. "Don't try to pull a fast one, Daddy." Her father smiled innocently.

The panda read quietly for a minute, then pulled out a sign. "_She has made her father very proud._" Flip. "_Truly, a worthy heir to the Saotome school._" Flip. "_Excuse me a moment._" It got up and shuffled off towards the kitchen, while Akane idly wondered how one sign with two sides could have three different things written on it.

Genma returned a few moments later, human, and dabbing at his eyes. In response to Akane's and Souun's questioning gazes, he shrugged.

"What's this about?" asked Souun.

Genma handed him the printout, and he started to read. Tears began to run down his cheeks. "I'm… I'm so moved! Instructing New York's finest in the Art! You should be proud, Saotome!"

Genma nodded, his eyes closed. "Yes, yes, all those years of training—"

Suddenly, Akane's hand snaked out at lightning speed, grabbing her father's wrist just above one of Genma's pieces. "Nice try, Daddy."

Genma smiled. "Well, it seems both the schools have worthy heirs, eh Tendou?"

Souun smiled weakly. "Indeed."

* * *

><p>"But Ranko, it's such a lovely tradition!"<p>

Ranko rubbed her eyes, her elbows on her desk. "Mother… I'm sure you're right, but… changing dresses, and maybe even going through two ceremonies… doesn't that seem like a little too much? Can't we just do one?"

There was a moderate silence on the line, then, "Dear… you're a Japanese girl. Don't you want to wear a wedding kimono, and have a Japanese ceremony? Years from now, you'll look back at your wedding pictures and be glad you did."

Ranko knew she was going to lose this argument, and wondered why she was even bothering. Nodoka was pretty easygoing for the most part, but whenever there was a question of ceremony her traditional side came out of hiding. Planning her wedding was making Ranko realize that that other version of her mother she'd met in Ranma's universe wasn't as different as she'd thought. "I… I know Mother, it's just… I don't want the guests to feel like they're attending a musical revue."

Nodoka hesitated. "Well… I suppose we _could _skip the Western ceremony…"

A fierce determination gripped Ranko; she was going to wear that wedding gown she had picked out and walk up that aisle if it was the last thing she did. "No, Mother. I am not skipping the Western ceremony."

There was an akward silence. Finally, Ranko sighed. "I guess a lot of couples do both ceremonies. I suppose… it wouldn't be so bad…" _So much for "Saotome Ranko doesn't lose."_

Bubbly enthusiasm gushed from the earpiece. "It will be wonderful, Dear, you'll see. Weddings are like giving birth; it can be hard to endure sometimes, but you'll treasure the memories. You'll be such a lovely bride! Oh, I can hardly wait!"

Ranko couldn't help but smile. _I survived training with Father for twelve years, I guess I can survive this. I think. _"Can we afford a wedding kimono on our budget? I don't want to compromise on the gown I like."

"Do you remember my old classmate Ito-san, whom we got your everyday kimono from?"

It had been nearly five years, but Ranko had no trouble remembering the chatty middle-aged woman. She hadn't stopped talking the entire time she'd been measuring Ranko for her first kimono. "Yes, she did a wonderful job on it."

"She's offered to give us a deep discount on both yours and Ryouga's. It will bend the budget a little, but not break it. I've already arranged to take you to be fitted when you're here for New Year's."

Ranko snorted. "I see you planned ahead, Mother."

"Of course!" They shared a laugh.

Ranko blinked. "Why doesn't Ryouga just rent a kimono? That's what he's doing with the tux."

"He doesn't need a tux after the wedding, Dear, but he does need a formal kimono, for other people's weddings and the like."

"Oh. I guess so."

"Now, about the menu. Did you have a preference between the Japanese banquet, or the French cuisine, or the Chinese?"

Ranko's head was starting to hurt; she rubbed her eyes again. "Umm… I don't know?"

"What do you think your friends would like?"

Ranko considered that. "I think Chinese is probably a bad idea with Cologne and Shampoo coming. I know they'll be closing the restaurant by then, but still… It would be like serving okonomiyaki to Ucchan. It's a matter of pride." Ranko's stomach suddenly made a long, drawn-out noise. _Why did I have to think about okonomiyaki?_

"Well, all right. How about the other two?"

"I don't know… they both seem kind of… fancy."

"Weddings are supposed to be fancy, Dear."

Ranko tilted her head. "Mmm." She thought about her friends, their likes and dislikes. "What's the French?"

"Originally, it was medallions of pork in an orange sauce." Ranko shuddered. "I explained that that wasn't an option, and they proposed Coq au Vin as an alternative."

Ranko was glad she didn't have any other family members or friends who currently or formerly turned into farm animals, or her wedding might have wound up a vegetarian affair. She briefly wondered if there were any springs of drowned produce at Jusenkyou, then tried to focus. "Given all the people who are coming and how different they are… maybe the Japanese would be best." She was definitely getting hungry. Her stomach chimed in its agreement, again.

"I think so too, Dear, but I'll check with Ryouga's mother first, just to make sure."

Ranko nodded slowly. "Is there anything else?"

"Not at the moment. New Year's is soon enough to pick out the kimono fabric. Akane-chan and I have been scouting bridesmaid's dresses for you, and we have some pictures for you to look at when you're here. You can pick out the ones you like best, and then we'll go shopping in person with her and her sisters." Just then, Tish reentered the room and closed the door quietly, having just returned from brushing her teeth. She smiled at Ranko.

Ranko smiled back and yawned; it was late. "Mother, thank you for doing all the hard work for the wedding while I'm here in New York." Her stomach growled again, and she sighed inaudibly.

"'Work'? Dear… ever since I became pregnant with you, I've dreamt about your future, about watching you grow up. When I found out you were a girl, I dreamt about sharing your girlhood, helping you through all the things I went through myself. I wondered what kind of woman you would grow up to be. I dreamt about your wedding, helping you learn to be a mother, playing with your children."

Nodoka paused. "Then you and your father vanished, and all I had left were my dreams. For twelve years I had nothing but them to comfort me. When I finally found you again and you were a boy, I… I thought I'd be forced to give up those dreams." Ranko's stomach gave a guilty little lurch. She still felt bad about the way she had treated her mother when they were reunited.

"But one morning I opened my front door, and there was my daughter standing there… and my dreams, too. Ranko… believe me, this is _not _'work.'" There was a pause. "I'm so grateful to have my daughter back."

Ranko felt a quiet, warm contentment; at the same time she was glad Tish couldn't hear any of this. "You and me both, Mother." She yawned again. _Thank God for the Nyanniichuan, _she thought, and smiled at the irony. She certainly hadn't felt that way at first.

"You should go to bed, Dear. You have school tomorrow."

Ranko tried hard not to laugh; her mother was still making up for lost time. "All right, Mother. Good night… I love you."

"I love you too, Dear. Good night." Ranko hung up.

"Well?" asked Tish, in Japanese.

"I never stood a chance," said Ranko. "She's been picturing me in that wedding kimono since I was a baby." She smiled as she went to get her running shoes out of the closet.

Tish shook her head, smiling, then blinked. "Why are you putting on your shoes?"

Ranko glanced at the clock on her desk as she tied her shoelaces. "Alfie's Pizza doesn't close for another fifteen minutes; I can just make it. I hope they have some slices left." She smiled sheepishly. "We talked about the menu for the reception." Her stomach gurgled again, and she blushed slightly.

Tish grinned.

* * *

><p>"Is this thing on?"<p>

The PA system squealed in a horrible feedback loop, and ninety-eight musicians clutched at their ears in agony. One of the faculty dashed over to the A/V cabinet and turned the volume down.

Professor Vincent gingerly removed her hands from her ears, her wince fading. "I'll take that as a yes. Sorry about that, everyone." The students and faculty slowly relaxed back into their seats. "If I haven't made you all deaf, we're going to talk about our first big orchestra trip this fall. We give lots of concerts at venues around the greater New York area, but we only go on two big trips a year, and this is one of them. We'll be giving three performances over two days at Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco, on Friday night, November 19, and the afternoon and evening of Saturday, November 20. The audience will be paying to hear you, ladies and gentlemen, so we want to give them a nice show. We have five weeks in between all your other studies to get ready.

"Everyone in the orchestra will be going, but only a couple of the soloists. We only have three nights, so we don't really have an opportunity for all the soloists to perform. The expenses will be covered partly by the proceeds of the concerts, but we still need to keep them to a minimum. Two soloists will be going, and they will be selected by the faculty committee based on their performances and work this term. The committee is meeting tonight, and the soloists will be informed of the decision tomorrow." Ranko felt a little rush of anxiety. Professor Vasilev had been optimistic, but it wasn't a sure thing that she'd be selected.

"To save on expenses, we'll be staying in South San Francisco, near the airport." There was a groan from the students, and Professor Vincent shrugged. "If you want to sightsee in San Francisco you'll have the chance, but you'll have to pay for it yourself. We were able to get a much better hotel rate outside the city limits. Even so, you'll have to double up." There was another groan.

Professor Vincent sighed. "I know it's no fun, but these trips cost a lot of money and we have to pinch pennies where we can." She grinned. "Think of it as practice for life with a professional symphony orchestra." A wave of laughter ran through the room.

Professor Vincent grew serious again. "And you _are _a professional symphony orchestra. This is your opportunity to wow the people of San Francisco. I'm sure you'll do a great job." She ran her eyes over her notes. "We'll be playing a symphony and two concerti. The concerti will be decided on by the soloists together with the concertmaster and conductor. We'll start work on those in a day or two. The symphony will be Brahms' fourth. It's a very large, challenging work, but I know you'll all do a great job." She looked over her notes one more time. "That's all I have. Are there any questions?" A hand went up. "Yes, Jean-Pierre?"

The young Frenchman offered an evil leer. "Can we pick who we double up with?"

* * *

><p>"Ghirardelli Square. I <em>have <em>to take you to Ghirardelli Square." Allison slipped the reed out of her clarinet as she continued to disassemble it. She waved it around a bit to dry it off.

Ranko blinked. "What is Ghirardelli Square?" She was busy putting her violin away as well. She had just finished several hours worth of work on the Mozart Clarinet Quintet in A Major, together with Allison Yamamoto, the clarinetist she'd met at the first department party, her roommate Flora Ho on viola, and a couple of other students. Flora had had to break early to go to a dentist's appointment, so it was still mid-afternoon.

Ranko had thoroughly enjoyed it. Though she planned to be a soloist, she loved chamber music as well. Still, she'd had the same problems she always did, and Jean-Pierre had not been around to interpret.

Allison smiled a happy smile. "There's a famous chocolate place there, with an ice cream parlor. They make _great _hot fudge sundaes." Ranko's eyes lit up, and Allison laughed. She lowered her voice. "I shouldn't say this, being a native San Franciscan and all, but… it's not the best chocolate I've ever had. Swiss is _way _better. Still, the sundaes are great. You'll love it."

"Allison, it is not decided yet that I will be going to San Francisco."

She waved her hand dismissively. "A formality. Everyone knows you can play rings around anyone else here."

Ranko blushed. "I hope you are right. What else should I see in San Francisco?" She sat down in one of the metal folding chairs, her violin case and backpack sitting next to it, and crossed her legs, her hands on her knee.

"Well, Ghirardelli Square is really a tourist trap, but there's lots of other places to go. Lots of museums, the Golden Gate, the Presidio, Angel Island, Santa Cruz, Monterey. Some of those are a bit of a drive, and I don't know if we'll have time. Big Sur is beautiful, but it's probably too far for this trip. You'll have to come visit me some time when school is out." She waved a piece of clarinet for emphasis.

Ranko nodded cheerfully, then grew thoughtful. "Have you ever been to Japan, Allison? When did your family come to America?"

"Oh, gosh. Mom and Dad were both born in California, in Santa Clara, when it was all orchards instead of computer companies. My grandparents were all born in Japan, though. I have some second cousins and great aunts and uncles and so on who live in Nara. That's where my family's from." She shrugged. "I've never been there, though. Some day."

Ranko nodded. "I have a close friend who is from Kyoto; her name is Ukyou Kuonji. I went to visit her home there a few times. That is a very pretty area. There are many temples, much history." She smiled. "If you ever want to visit your family I would like very much if you come visit me, too."

"Thank you! I will. Where is your family from?"

"We live in Nerima Ward of Tokyo. It is the most northwest ward of the city. I live in a small town in Nerima called Fuurinkan."

Allison closed her clarinet case, and sat down facing Ranko. The others had already left the practice room. "What's it like?"

Ranko laughed. "It's very much like every other part of Tokyo. Tall buildings near the train station, lots of small houses everywhere else. I live in a big house with a dojo attached, with another family. It's very old, from before land in Tokyo was so expensive. I think Uncle Souun could make lots of money if he sold it, but the dojo is a very important tradition, so he will not sell it."

"Sounds nice and quiet."

"Yes, it is." _After I stopped being a walking chaos bomb and weirdness magnet, anyway. _"I will be going home for the New Year's holiday."

Allison nodded thoughtfully. "My grandparents always celebrate that, but Mom and Dad don't really follow the traditions very much. And me, well…" She shrugged, and Ranko laughed.

Ranko's gaze passed over the utilitarian wall clock hung in the practice room. "Oh, I need to go see Professor Vasilev. He wanted to talk to me before I go to work with Jean-Pierre." They were still working their way through the violin sonata repertoire; today was a late Mozart work.

Allison winked as they stood up. "I bet it's to tell you about the trip. That hot fudge sundae is in the bag. Ghirardelli Square, here we come!"

Ranko laughed. "OK!"

* * *

><p>Jean-Pierre looked up from his sheet music as he heard the door to practice room 3K open. He twisted around in time to see Ranko quietly pull the door closed behind her. She had her violin case in her hand, her backpack on her back, and a somber expression on her face.<p>

He watched as she went over to the metal folding chairs lined up against the wall, and just stood there. She made no motion to either take off her backpack or put down her violin case. "Hey babe… are we going to get started?" He grinned. "Or are you going to fall asleep standing up?"

"Huh?" said Ranko. "Oh… oh, yes." She put down her violin case, then paused. Slowly, she took off her backpack, put it on another chair, then paused again. She just stood there, her back to him and her head hung down, like a toy whose battery had run down.

Jean-Pierre was just wondering what was going on when he heard a sniffle. His eyes widened, and he stood up and went over to put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, babe…"

She flinched from his touch. "No… don't… I… I am OK." She slowly turned around; her eyes were wet, and she was clearly agitated.

"I think not," said Jean-Pierre. "What happened?" He sat down on one of the chairs, and patted the one next to him; Ranko sat down as well.

Ranko's eyebrows knit in pain, and she seemed to deflate, her posture drooping. "I…" A tear rolled down one cheek, "I did not make the cut for the trip… I am not going with the orchestra to San Francisco…"

Jean-Pierre sucked his breath in through his teeth. "Why?"

She leaned forward, her hands clutched tightly in her lap and her head hung down. "My rank… my rank was number f-five of the soloists. I was fifth! Only the top two are going." She looked up at him, her face a little wetter. "You are going, yes? Professor Vasilev said so."

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

She turned her gaze back to her lap, and continued in a small voice. "I was ready to not be picked, I was ready to not go on the trip, but f-fifth place! _Fifth_! I tried so hard… but… but the faculty committee… my playing is too c-cold, they say… It still needs much work… Professor Vasilev tried, but he could not convince them…" Tears were running freely down her cheeks now. "I have tried so many different things, but I am wondering what ideas to try next…" Her face was all scrunched up from trying to hold the tears back, and she wasn't doing a very good job of it.

Jean-Pierre put an arm around her; this time, she didn't object. "You'll figure it out," he said softly, "I know you will." He felt her relax a little into his one-armed embrace.

She shook her head slowly. "I… I don't know… I…" She turned to look up at him. "You… you really think so?" she sniffled.

"Yes, I'm sure." He gave her a squeeze, and she relaxed a little more, her head leaning slightly into his arm.

She smiled through her tears. "Thank you, Jean-Pierre. Thank you for believing of me." Suddenly, she seemed to notice what they were doing. She stiffened, and stood up out of his embrace. "I… I'm sorry… th-thank you, but I'm engaged… I should not…" She was blushing furiously. Jean-Pierre sighed inaudibly.

Ranko turned towards her violin case. "We… we should get to work…" She was still sniffling.

Jean-Pierre looked her over. "Are you ready to work?"

Ranko stopped what she was doing, and just stood there for a moment, her head hanging down and her hair obscuring her face. Jean-Pierre couldn't see her face, but her head shook from side to side.

Jean-Pierre went over and closed the cover on the piano keyboard. "Come, then. Let's go for a walk."

"But… my violin…"

"Will be safe here. You need to stop being Ranko the violinist for a little while, and be just plain Ranko."

* * *

><p>The sun was quite low in the sky, but even though the days were rapidly growing shorter there were a good couple of hours of daylight left. With her sweater, Ranko was quite comfortable despite the crispness in the air—the climate here was not too different from home. The trees of Central Park were just starting to turn, green giving way to a riot of gold, orange, crimson, and brown. The foliage was stunning.<p>

She took a deep, exhilarating breath, let it out, and kicked at the gravel of the small path they were walking on. She managed a small smile. "Thank you, Jean-Pierre. This was a good idea."

He grinned. "I only have good ideas. It saves a lot of time."

She looked askance at him. "And you are so modest."

"That as well, yes." They shared a laugh.

The path emerged from the woods to parallel a roadway, and Ranko smiled at the horse-drawn carriage that ambled past, the clip-clop of the horse's hooves tapping out a staccato rhythm on the asphalt pavement, the animal's breath making small clouds in counterpoint. A young couple sat in the carriage; they seemed oblivious to their surroundings.

For a moment, Ranko imagined that it was herself and Ryouga in the carriage. He'd have an arm around her, and she'd be snuggled close to him… She sighed a wistful sigh as the fantasy dissipated. The man she loved was still on the other side of the planet.

She and Jean-Pierre didn't speak for a minute or two, as they enjoyed the ambiance of the leafy oasis, surrounded on all sides by the concrete gray of Manhattan. A mounted policeman rode by, and Ranko reflected that she'd never, ever seen a single horse out on the street in Tokyo. New York City seemed to be full of surprises.

Her mind tried to drift back to her violin work, and she firmly pushed it aside. Jean-Pierre was right; she had needed a break.

Jean-Pierre broke the silence. "What led you to study martial arts?"

Ranko felt a familiar pang. "It was my father. He is very… obsessed about martial arts, and since he was raising me by himself, he wanted me to learn."

"Did _you _want to learn?"

Ranko thought about that as they continued to drift down the side of the road, pedestrians and joggers passing them by. "No… not really. Not at first. It did not interest me. I did not like to fight." Jean-Pierre was nodding slowly.

"But once I started, I did enjoy it, and so I wanted to learn after that. And it distracted me away from the problems in my life. Living on the road, being away from my mother." _Having to use the men's room…_

"And so you focused on it single-mindedly… to the exclusion of everything else." His eyes had a faraway look.

Ranko stopped short. "Yes… How did you know this?"

Jean-Pierre stopped as well, a smile on his face. "I am just exquisitely tuned to your heart, babe."

Ranko sighed and resumed walking, Jean-Pierre trailing her. _Every time I think he just might be a nice guy…_

They walked in silence for a while, Ranko keeping a few paces ahead of her companion. She began to notice that people were looking at them, and wondered why. This continued for a minute or so, until the answer came to her: _They think he's my boyfriend, and we've had a fight. _She sighed. _I guess I __**am**_ _being rude. _She stopped and waited while he caught up.

"Have you decided to forgive me?"

Ranko tilted her head. "I am not sure. Are you going to behave yourself?"

Jean-Pierre flashed his smile. "If it means your company then it may be worth the price."

Ranko closed her eyes; when she opened them they were a little wet. "Jean-Pierre?"

His jocular demeanor faded. "Yes?" he asked softly.

"If you are trying to cheer me up, you are doing a poor job." He winced. "Ever since I have met you, you flirt with me. I do not want it. Why do you do this? Why can you not just be my friend?"

Jean-Pierre was silent for a while, a very serious look on his face. For the first time since she had known him, she thought he looked uncomfortable, troubled, even… vulnerable. For the first time, he seemed to be at a loss for words. Ranko was taken aback.

Finally, he answered in a quiet, earnest voice. "I am your friend. I will always be your friend." He looked her in the eyes, and for a moment Ranko saw a different Jean-Pierre. For a moment, the eyes matched the music that came out of the piano.

Their gazes held, until she blushed and looked away. She saw smiles on the passersby and thought, _Great. Now they think he's my boyfriend and we've made up. _She sighed and turned back, to find the smile back in place on Jean-Pierre's face. She nodded slowly. "All right."

She shivered slightly; the sun had disappeared behind the buildings, and in their shadow the chill was starting to get to her, sweater or no. "I am cold. Can we go back?"

Jean-Pierre nodded. "Of course." They turned and retraced their steps, and Ranko thought that he seemed uncharacteristically taciturn.

She kept a discreet eye on him as they walked, a little more briskly than before. At first, she'd taken him for a simple lout like Kunou-senpai, but how wrong she had been. She shook her head slightly. _Jean-Pierre… I just don't understand you at all._

* * *

><p>Eimi came to an abrupt halt, Tish and Ranko nearly bumping into her from behind. "<em>I could have sworn it was around here somewhere…<em>" She craned her neck as she surveyed their surroundings. Ranko had a strong sense of _deja vu_; this happened every time her fiancé tried to find his way without his GPS receiver.

All around them were century-old buildings with tired but proud façades, a mix of tenement apartments and little shops with dusty plate glass windows covered by strong steel bars. The rat's nest of overhead telephone and power cables was long gone, and the automobiles and window bars were new, but other than that the lower East side looked much as it had a hundred years earlier.

Ranko looked around while Eimi tried to find her bearings. The passersby were a veritable rainbow of different ethnic groups and nationalities. No matter what country on Earth, no matter what shape of face or color of skin, you could find a representative in New York City, and, Ranko thought, probably right here on this street.

Ranko cleared her throat. "_Eimi-san, we really don't have to…_"

Eimi smiled and shook her head. "_Yes, we do. I promised I'd replace the shoes you ruined getting my purse back, and I meant it._" On her very next layover in New York, Eimi had called to arrange a shopping expedition for the "TLM-_gumi_," as she'd dubbed the three of them: the Three Little Maids. Ranko had protested that the errand could wait, and maybe they could go see a movie or something, but had been overruled. And so she and Tish found themselves on the streets of the lower East side, following their flight attendant friend through the maze.

Eimi's gaze narrowed, and she pointed, nodding. "_That way! I was turned around._" She set off.

"_Have you been here before?_" asked Tish.

Eimi grinned. She paused and waggled her right foot so the others could see the slingback pump she was wearing. "_Yup. Always something off. Sometimes half off. Occasionally two thirds off. This place is definitely worth knowing._" She set off again.

Ranko and Tish blinked and exchanged glances, and scrambled to follow. Eimi turned at corners, heeding no particular landmarks or directions that Ranko could discern. Finally she stopped at the top of a short flight of stairs that led to a basement storefront. The dusty plate glass window was indistinguishable from all the others they had passed, save for the old-fashioned stenciled letters that spelled "Ladies' Shoes. All Sizes." Ranko thought that no bloodhound could possibly sniff out bargains the way Eimi could. How had she ever found this place to begin with?

They descended the stairs and pushed through the door; a little bell rang as they did so. Inside was a tiny shop, filled with shelves that were piled high with shoe boxes. Ranko blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside. There were only two chairs, both piled up with shoe boxes. "Yeah, yeah, just a minute," yelled a voice from the back.

It had been more like five minutes when a very elderly, thin, frail-looking man tottered out of the back, his posture bent and stooped. Wire-rimmed glasses sat on a beak-like nose, with bushy white eyebrows above as if they were a planting. His eyes looked over Eimi, and narrowed. "Oh, you again. You brought friends?"

Eimi nodded. "My friend here—" and here she gestured at Ranko, "ruined a pair of penny loafers helping me out, and I promised to replace them." She winked. "I didn't promise to pay retail, though."

The old man laughed, a short bark. "Hah! OK, let's have a look." He ran his eyes over Ranko, fiddling with his glasses. "_Got in himmel_, she's a small one. We'll have to throw her back, she's under the limit." He slowly shuffled over to the chairs, and unceremoniously shoved the pile of boxes off of one of them; they cascaded to the floor with a clatter. "Siddown."

Ranko, who was feeling more than a little intimidated, made her way over and did as she was told. "Stick out your foot." She did that as well. "_Nu shoyn_, take off your sneakers and socks." She meekly obeyed.

The old man slowly, slowly squatted down, and with surprising gentleness examined her foot. "Size 4, medium, and a small one at that. I haven't seen a foot this tiny in a while. _Hey Gertie!_" he bellowed.

"You don't have to yell! I can hear you just fine!" answered a female voice from the back.

"Where are the size 4's?"

"How should I know, Herman? Wherever _you _put them!"

Herman rolled his eyes. "'How should I know, Herman? Wherever _you _put them!'" he mimicked. "Nothing but _tsures_." He turned his attention back to Ranko. He pulled a pair of frayed nylon knee-highs from a pocket and tossed them to her. "Put these on." She nodded. As slowly as he had lowered himself, he stood up again. Ranko wanted to help, but the look in his eyes told her to mind her own business. Once he was standing again, Herman slowly, slowly shuffled into the back.

"_Doesn't he need to measure my foot?_" asked Ranko as she put on the knee-highs. Eimi grinned and shook her head _no_.

It took fifteen minutes, but Herman finally returned, carrying a huge stack of boxes. Ranko's jaw dropped; how could this frail little old man carry so much? He looked around, pushed some boxes out of the way with his foot, and put the stack down in their place. He turned back to Ranko. "You're in luck, _Maideleh_. I got a whole pile of these, half price or better. Not too many size 4's come here."

He slowly, slowly knelt down in front of her. He pulled a box from the stack, and opened it. He pulled out a pair of penny loafers, and Ranko gasped; they were from a very famous, very expensive brand, and were very pretty. Tish's eyes bulged, and she started to look around the store more actively.

Again with surprising gentleness, he slipped one of the loafers on her foot; it fit perfectly and felt like a dream. "Stand up and tell me how it feels."

Ranko did as she was told. "It feels fine."

"Siddown." She did so, and he put the other one on. "Now walk around."

She stood up and gingerly made her way around the tiny shop, trying to avoid the piles of boxes. "They feel very nice." She turned back to him and smiled. "I like them. How much are they?"

"None of your damn business," gruffed Herman. "Your friend is buying them." Eimi grinned, while Tish held her hand over her mouth.

Ranko, chastened, sat down again. Herman gently removed the shoes and placed them back in the box. "OK, there any other shoes you want? I got a lot here." He frowned. "You got shoes for your wedding yet?"

Ranko blinked. "How did you know?…"

"Engagement ring, no wedding ring. You got shoes?" She shook her head. "I got a few pairs here. White gown?" She nodded. "Here." He pulled a box out of the stack, and from it withdrew a shoe, which he handed to Ranko.

It was a white pump with a low heel, covered with elaborate embroidery. "No… this is more fancy than I like."

He nodded, taking them back. "Yeah, you don't need too much extra decoration." He rummaged through the stack as Ranko blushed furiously. "Try this." He produced another shoe.

Ranko turned it over in her hands. It was a small, dainty white slipper, almost like the kind a ballerina would wear, with a little bow. It was simple but exquisitely crafted, and her breath caught in her throat. "It's beautiful…" she murmured. She'd been looking for shoes to go with her gown for a while, and these were _perfect_. "How much are they?"

"Normally $69, but since I like you and it's your wedding, $59."

Ranko's eyes bulged; this pair would cost 16,000 yen or more in Tokyo. "Th-thank you."

He gave a non-committal grunt, took the shoe from her unresisting hand, and put it and its mate on her feet. He pushed his thumb down around her toes, probing. "I was worried about this pair, but you got room. Try 'em out." He grinned. "Not that they gotta fit too well. You're only gonna wear 'em once." She slowly walked around again, all the time looking at her feet. Her pulse beat a little faster as she thought about the next time she'd be wearing them. She blushed as her friends grinned at her.

She returned to her seat, smiling. "I will buy these."

Herman smiled. "Anything else you ladies wanna look at?"

An hour later, he stood at the cash register, ringing up a large pile of boxes. Each of the young women had bought two or three pairs of shoes. Tish had found a pair of dress sandals she loved, and Eimi had needed new shoes for work. Ranko had picked out some cute ankle boots that were very comfortable and a pair of sandals for next summer ("Very smart, _Maideleh_, off season"), in addition to her wedding slippers and the penny loafers Eimi was paying for. She felt very extravagant.

She glanced over at Eimi, who was happily paying for her purchases, and smiled. _It's a good thing I finally found a job. This could be an expensive friendship._

* * *

><p>Jaroslav Hajek lowered his violin. "Do you see? More like that." He raised his bow hand and rubbed his nose, somehow managing to avoid poking himself in the eye. "Why don't you try it again?"<p>

Ranko nodded, raised her violin and bow, and tried the vibrato passage one more time. She smiled; she knew she'd nailed it.

"Excellent!" exclaimed the stocky Czech violinist. He waved his bow for emphasis. "You certainly pick things up fast, Ranko. I can see why your technique is so outstanding." He laughed. "You learned that trick in an hour; it took me two days."

Ranko blushed; a compliment like that from him really meant something. Hajek was one of the very few at the top of the profession; he had countless recordings, appeared with orchestras all over the world—and he had just spent the entire day working with her one on one. If she had ever questioned why she had come to Juilliard, she didn't need to look any further for a reason. The chance to work with the best students in the world was a rare opportunity; the chance to work with the best violinists in the world was a priceless one, and only available here. If only they could help her to play like an artist instead of like the robots at Disneyland…

"Thank you, Mr. Hajek. You are very kind."

Hajek grinned. "Please, Ranko, enough with the Mr. Hajek. Call me Jari. Everyone does."

Ranko nodded uncertainly. "All right, J-jari." She blushed slightly; she wasn't used to calling someone like him by a nickname, especially since his meant "gravel" in Japanese. Not that he needed to know that.

Jari lay his violin and bow down and rubbed his hands together. "It's getting late and I'm getting hungry, but I'd like to watch you try those finger extensions in that Paganini caprice again."

Ranko's face fell. "I'm still having trouble with that."

The older man clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Ranko, I think it's a miracle you can play it at all. Those extensions are hell for everyone, and I didn't think someone with hands as small as yours could do them, period. So feel good; if they never get any better than they are now, you'll be just fine. Plus, if you can do these at all you won't have any trouble doing normal extensions. No one else but Paganini wrote extensions like that." He winked. "I'm sure he was a sadist." They both laughed.

Without further prompting, Ranko raised her violin and launched into the Paganini Caprice in A minor. Jari watched carefully, his gaze never wavering from her fingers.

When she was done, she started to lower her instrument, but he shook his head. "Just a minute. Could you do one of those in slow motion? Just move your fingers."

She nodded and slowly went through the motions. Midway through he said "Stop! Hold it right there." He peered at her fingers. "Well, I can see how you can reach, but you're way overextended that way. How can you keep enough pressure on the string?"

"My fingers are small, but they are pretty strong and flexible."

He nodded slowly as he scratched his chin. "Hmmm. I don't know if I have any bright ideas. I think you've found about the only way you can do this, so just keep practicing. This is one of those things you'll get if you keep working at it." She nodded.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Both of them turned to find Professor Vasilev peering through the small window of their practice room.

"Peter, come in!" called Jari. He waved.

The professor did, and looked around. "Am I interrupting? I thought you two would be finished by now."

Jari waved his hands energetically. "No, no, we were just finishing up. Ranko here was just showing me how she copes with those hellish extensions in the Paganini caprices." He shook his head. "She has got an amazing reach with those tiny little fingers." Ranko smiled as she blushed.

She bowed to him. "Thank you for today, Mr. Hajek—" He waggled a finger at her. "Uh, Jari. I am… I'm honored that you took a whole day to work with me and teach me. I learned a lot from you."

He beamed. "It's my pleasure, Ranko. I enjoyed it a great deal."

Peter smiled, then turned to the other man. "When is your plane again?"

"Sunday evening, after the matinee performance." He was playing the Sibelius violin concerto this weekend with Louis Maastricht and the New York Philharmonic.

"How about dinner?"

Jari smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I'm already seeing Louis. We're going to talk over some last minute things."

Peter pondered that. "Do you have time to talk now? I imagine you'll be pretty busy with practicing and your performances this weekend."

Jari nodded. "Sure, let me pack up my violin and we can go to your office."

Ranko, who had been packing up her own violin, added "I'll be gone in a moment, so you can talk here if you like." She hefted her violin case and backpack, and turned to bow to Jari one more time. "Thank you again, Jari. I very much hope we can work together again soon." The Czech nodded and waved.

Ranko turned to her professor. "I'll see you tomorrow, Professor." He gave her a smile and a casual wave, and with that, she left.

When the door was closed, Peter turned back to Jari. "Well?"

Jari sighed and went to sit down on one of the chairs against the wall. "I tried working with her on her expressiveness for a couple of hours. We were getting nowhere and she was getting depressed, so I switched to technique." He shook his head. "She's amazing. She just soaked up everything I had to teach her. Vibrato, extensions, double stops, you name it. And she was already superb at all of it before we started. She could already teach if she wanted to…" He trailed off.

Peter sighed himself. "But…"

Jari sagged. "But none of it means anything unless she can express herself. This young lady is the best student of technique I've ever seen, but her playing doesn't move you the way it ought to." His face turned grim. "I won't say it's outright mechanical, but it's certainly a pale shade of what it ought to be."

Peter nodded. "Some of my colleagues say she's just one more technically brilliant but artistically shallow kid. They say I'm wasting my time." He bit his lip. "What do you think?"

Jari steepled his hands over his nose and leaned forward in his chair, his brow furrowed. He didn't reply for a long time. Finally, he said "No… no, I don't think so."

Peter relaxed a little, and sagged into an adjoining chair. "I'm glad to hear that; I feel the same way. Why do you disagree?"

Jari leaned back in his chair, his limbs akimbo and his chin on his fist. "I'm not sure. There's something… I can't put my finger on it. All I can say is I've been playing for thirty years, and I hear something. I think there is something inside, trying to get out. I think she has that potential, but I can't tell you why." He paused, his brow furrowed in concentration. "But you know… I'll bet you anything Ira will have an idea. Is he coming this semester?"

Peter smiled. "Of course. He comes every semester. He'd live here if he could." They both laughed.

Jari nodded his head, with more confidence. "I bet Ira will have an idea."

* * *

><p>"Ranko!"<p>

At the sound of her name Ranko stopped, and looked around the plaza, trying to discover who'd called to her. She spotted Allison Yamamoto, waving at her and smiling uncertainly.

She waved back. "Hi Allison!"

Allison made her way through the crowd. She stopped, and seemed to be gathering the courage to speak. "I… I heard about the trip…"

Ranko cut her off. "Allison, it is… it's OK. Yes, it was a disappointment, but I'll go next time for sure." She flashed a confident smile, a confidence that was a bit more than what she actually felt.

Allison nodded. "I'm sure you will. I'm… I'm just sorry I went on and on about San Francisco and all."

Ranko grinned. "I'll go there some day. And you will show me around."

Allison smiled back, her spirits restored. "OK!" She gestured towards the Rose building. "Wanna get some lunch?"

Ranko nodded. "Sure!" They turned towards the cafeteria, walking together.

"So are you going to wear a costume for Halloween?"

Ranko blinked. "Halloween? I think I heard that name before, but I don't remember what it is."

Allison frowned as she tried to think of a way to describe what she had to admit was a rather odd holiday. "Well, it's mostly for kids. They dress up in costumes, then go around to houses in the neighborhood and get candy."

Ranko smiled. "It sounds like fun. How did it get started?"

It was Allison's turn to blink. "You know… I honestly have no idea."

Ranko laughed, as they both entered the lobby of the Rose building. "What was that about wearing a costume?"

Allison blushed and nodded. "Halloween is for kids, but sometimes adults like to wear costumes, too. They have parties instead of trick-or-treating—that's the part where kids go around getting candy. People even wear their costumes to work or school on Halloween." She smiled. "It's a chance to pretend to be someone else for a while. There's going to be a Halloween party in the rec room in Willson Hall Sunday night."

Ranko mused about that. One part of her didn't want to have anything to do with it. She'd _been _someone else for twelve years, and it had left a very bad taste in her mouth. On the other hand, it might be fun to dress up like Akane did in her theater productions. "I don't know… maybe… I'm not sure what costume I would wear."

"Oh, just be a favorite character from a movie or book, or something. Can you sew?"

"I had to fix my own clothes and my father's too, when we were on the road. I cannot… can't do anything fancy, though." Ranko suddenly realized that there had been a reason behind her father's insistence that _Ranma _should be the one to do all the cooking, and sewing, and other "household" chores. _Father, you old fraud. _She smiled, bemused.

Allison pushed her way through the cafeteria doors, Ranko right behind her. "Well, you can always buy a costume if you can't make one. Do you have any idea who you might go as?"

Ranko thought about that. The women she admired most—both fictional and in real life—didn't wear easily-recognized, flashy costumes. "I don't know if other people would recognize Japanese characters."

"You don't have to go as a character. You can just be a monster, or a policewoman, or whatever."

Ranko furrowed her brow. "I don't know. Maybe I could wear my gi, or something like that." They took their trays and went to stand in line.

"'Gi'?"

"It's what you wear to do martial arts."

Allison brightened. "Oh, I know what you mean! One of those karate outfits."

Ranko smiled. "Yes, like that."

Allison nodded thoughtfully. "That would work." She smiled. "So are you going to come?"

Ranko tilted her head. "I'm not sure… It's not really a holiday I understand."

Allison smiled a wicked smile. "There's going to be lots of food."

Ranko considered that for all of a second. "OK!"

* * *

><p>Allison readjusted her cap for the fourth time in ten minutes. The baseball uniform had seemed like a cute idea, but the cap kept pushing her bangs into her eyes. <em>I'm just about ready to ditch this thing… <em>With this latest adjustment, though, it seemed to be behaving itself.

She scanned the room, looking for friends. The Willson Hall rec room was filled tonight not with students of music, dance, and acting, but with (among others) scuba divers, cowboys and cowgirls, monsters, superheroes, vampires, wizards, faeries, goblins, princes and princesses, and humanoid versions of several animal species and the occasional plant. Oddly enough, this bizarre assortment of beings was chatting amiably and grazing on hors d'oeuvres as quiet music played in the background… much like the students of music, dance, and acting usually did. The vampires seemed content to assuage their hunger with broccoli and chicken wings tonight.

Allison's eyes came to rest on two women on the other side of the hors d'oeuvres. One was a blonde, blue-eyed cheerleader; the other was wearing a traditional kimono and had an elaborate hairdo. Thick white makeup covered the woman's face (at least, Allison assumed it was a woman), turning it into a ritual mask that made it impossible to identify the person. She thought for a moment it might be her friend Ranko, but quickly realized the woman was much too tall. "I wonder if she's supposed to be a geisha or something," she said to herself, and headed over. The eyes peering out of the makeup watched her coolly as she walked up.

Allison looked the figure up and down. "You can't be Ranko Saotome… you're way too tall." The woman was a little taller than Allison herself.

The woman hid her face with her fan and tittered, shaking her head. The cheerleader rolled her eyes.

Allison peered at the eyes, and tried to think if any of the other Japanese or Japanese-Americans she knew who were this tall. "Let me guess… umm… umm…" She tapped the side of her chin. "Erin Suzuki?" The woman shyly shook her head again. "OK, I give up!"

The woman abruptly thrust out her right hand, grabbed Allison's, and vigorously pumped it up and down. "Tish Williams. Pleased ta meet ya."

Allison blinked. "You're not Japanese? You sure fooled me."

Tish slowly shook her head. The cheerleader smirked and added in a thick Texas accent, "She's in the auxiliaries." Tish pulled down an eyelid and stuck out her tongue, which made a jarring contrast with her outfit. The cheerleader snorted, then turned to Allison and continued, "I'm Megan Johnson. Ranko lives in our suite; Tish here is her roommate."

Allison blinked again. "Wait a minute… are you that tall black gal I've seen with Ranko?" Tish bowed formally, making a flourish with her fan. "That's a _great _outfit! I didn't recognize you at all!"

Tish shrugged modestly. "Megan helped me borrow the costume from the opera department. It's from 'Madame Butterfly.'" She fluttered her fan again. "I had to use the wig, too. I could never get my hair to do this. It's too frizzy." She looked Allison up and down. "So, why baseball?"

Allison leaned in close and said in a stage whisper, "Because I've been striking out on finding a boyfriend!" They all laughed.

Megan winked. "Maybe Ah should have come as a ball player, too."

Allison smiled in commiseration. "That's a great costume, though. You really look the part."

Megan sighed. "Probably because Ah used to _play _the part." For a moment she had a faraway look in her eyes, like black thunderclouds seen from miles away.

Allison looked around. "Is your roommate here yet?"

Tish shook her head. "Ranko? No, she was still up in the room. She was going to wear her gi, but as she was getting it out she spotted something else and got this strange look on her face. She told me to go on ahead."

Megan grinned. "Ah think she'll be here pretty soon. She's not gonna take a chance on the food bein' gone." They all chuckled.

A voice came from behind them. "Ah, we must be discussing our favorite gourmand." They turned to find Jean-Pierre standing behind them. He was wearing a striped jersey with blue jeans, had a bandanna wrapped around his head, and had patch over one eye. A plastic sword in a scabbard hung from his belt.

Jean-Pierre needed no introduction to Ranko's friends. Tish looked him over carefully. "A pirate?"

He bowed slightly. "It was thrown together at the last minute, I must admit."

Allison piped up, "Actually, it's kind of cute. I like it."

Jean-Pierre smiled. "Thank you. You look quite fetching yourself." He grinned. "Have you caught anything yet?" Megan rolled her eyes, causing Tish to have to stifle a giggle.

Allison blushed. "N-no, not yet." She dropped her gaze. Megan and Tish raised an eyebrow at each other.

There was an awkward silence, and Tish cleared her throat. "I've got my eye on some of those dumplings. Shall we?"

Jean-Pierre swiveled his head around, scanning the room. "I suppose, though it would be infinitely more fun were our voracious little hummingbird here. I enjoy watching her strike fear into the hearts of the caterers. However, she seems to be taking her own sweet…" he trailed off. "_Mon dieu_…" His jaw hung slightly open.

They followed his gaze to the door, and there found Ranko. She was wearing a Chinese dress, a dark green silk cheongsam with side slits that rose to a height that was just slightly naughty. The dress was not too tight, but only by a whisker; it showed off her curves to full effect. Her petite feet were clad in matching green silk slippers. She'd made her face up in a subtly different way, and her fiery red hair was gathered into two _odango _with short tails. She looked exotic, mysterious, and alluring.

She spotted her friends, waved, and started over. Male conversation more or less came to a halt as she flowed by, her martial arts training lending stunning grace to her movements. "She sure knows how to make an entrance," observed Megan wistfully.

Jean-Pierre didn't say anything, but his gaze never wavered from his study partner. The one who usually wore blue jeans or chinos now that the weather was getting chilly. He appeared a little flushed.

Ranko walked up to the group, unaware of the trail of high blood pressure she was leaving in her wake. "Hi guys… is there any food left?" She winked, and her friends laughed; the illusion was broken.

Megan smiled quietly. No matter that she looked the part tonight, Ranko was no _femme fatale_; her personality and her outfit were a mismatch of comic proportions. Then again, tonight _was _about pretending to be someone else…

Tish looked her up and down. "Don't tell me, let me guess…" She put on a wicked grin and snapped her fan shut, pointing it at Ranko's _odango_. "You're Sailor Moon!"

Ranko gave Tish a sour look and folded her arms. "No, I am not Sailor Moon." She shivered slightly. Allison and Megan exchanged confused shrugs.

Tish took another, closer look. "Ah!" she exclaimed. "That photo…"

Ranko grinned. "Right!" She struck an exaggerated martial arts pose. "I am a Chinese Amazon warrior!" She straightened up, smiling sheepishly as she fingered her hair. "I didn't want to make my hair purple like my friend Shampoo, though."

Megan's eyes lit up with devilish glee. "'Shampoo'?"

Ranko smiled. "Well, her name is really"—she enunciated carefully—"Xian Pu. But it's hard to pronounce that right in Japanese." Megan's grin widened, while Tish's smiled dimmed slightly.

Allison ran her eyes over Ranko's dress and stammered, "Does… does she dress like _that_?" She blushed slightly.

Jean-Pierre took the opportunity to run his own eyes over Ranko's dress. Again. There might have been a light sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

Ranko giggled. "Not very often. She used to dress like this a lot more when she was trying to… uhh…" she blushed, "when we were in high school. We sometimes go shopping together, and I bought this at her favorite store in Tokyo." She smiled. "I don't wear it very often, though." Jean-Pierre sighed inaudibly.

Allison furrowed her brow. "Why is she in Tokyo if she's a _Chinese _Amazon?"

Ranko hesitated. "Well, I met her in China, and she… ummm… she followed me home to Japan."

Megan raised an eyebrow. "Is she… uhh… you know…"

Ranko blushed again. "N-no." She laughed nervously. "She was trying to hunt me down and kill me, actually."

There was a moderate silence as everyone digested this. Finally, Allison squeaked, "Kill you?"

Ranko's hands fidgeted nervously. "Well, to make a long story short, I fought her without understanding her village's laws, and I caused her great shame, so she vowed to kill me."

Allison asked tentatively, "And now she's… your friend?"

Ranko nodded and smiled. "Yes, we are good friends. We, umm, got everything straightened out."

Tish frowned. "So why is she still in Japan?"

"Her great-grandmother Cologne decided that she would get a better education in Japan. We went to high school together, and she's a political science major at Tokyo University right now. They will both go back to China after my wedding in June." Ranko smiled. Cologne had lost a potential son-in-law, but felt pretty good about what she had got in return.

Megan asked in a small voice, "'Cologne'?"

"Well, actually it's Kuh Lon. It's just…"

"…hard to pronounce in Japanese." finished Megan.

Ranko nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"You've had a very interestin' life, haven't you?" observed Megan, her expression slightly shell-shocked.

Ranko's eyes lost focus, and seemed to be looking at something else. "Too interesting."

Tish watched this for a moment, then said gently, "Come on. The food's getting cold." She patted Ranko's arm and winked.

Ranko laughed, her cheeks slightly pink. "OK." They all headed over towards the hors d'oeuvres. Jean-Pierre trailed a few steps behind, not unlike a duckling imprinted on its mother.

Tish couldn't help smiling when Ranko's face lit up like a kid's in a candy store and she practically snatched a plate and started foraging. A wide variety of morsels were rounded up and transferred to her growing hoard. Tish happened to glance at Megan, and they shared an amused smile.

Ranko watched Jean-Pierre out of the corner of her eye as she filled her plate. He was just standing there, very quiet, occasionally glancing in her direction; it seemed very unlike him. After a while, he shook himself, and went to the end of the table to get his own plate.

Ranko took the opportunity to lean over and whisper to Tish, "Jean-Pierre seems very quiet tonight. I wonder if something is bothering him?"

Tish replied drily, "I think it's a pretty safe bet that something is bothering him. I wouldn't worry about it, though." Ranko nodded thoughtfully, and turned her attention back to the buffet.

Tish grinned. Ranko didn't even realize that she was paying Jean-Pierre back, with interest.

She was having fun wondering just how much food Ranko could fit on one plate when she heard a young man's voice from behind them. "That's a beautiful cheongsam, Miss. You look great in it."

Tish turned her head to see who was trying to hit on her roommate, the latest in a long line. He looked on the young side, maybe a freshman; he probably took Ranko's short stature to mean she was a teen as well. He was wearing a flirtatious grin…

…and a costume straight out of "Cats." He had cat ears in a furry wig, and whiskers painted on his face. His outfit was covered with fur, and he had a tail pinned on. It was a great costume… or would have been for anyone else. Tish's eyes widened and her adrenaline surged as she realized what was about to happen.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as Ranko started to turn around, an amused half-smile on her face. Tish wanted to do something—_anything_—but couldn't seem to move. Ranko's other friends showed no sign they understood the situation, and Tish thought she had some idea how Cassandra must have felt.

The slow-motion tableau was shattered when Ranko caught sight of the young man standing behind her. Her eyes grew wide, and Tish watched, mesmerized, as the petite redhead changed in a heartbeat from exotic temptress to terrified little girl—and something else. Something inhuman was sharing that little girl's eyes, something that sent a shiver up Tish's spine. The plate slipped from Ranko's hand, crashed to the floor, and splattered them all with cheese cubes, carrot sticks, and dumplings.

Jean-Pierre's eyes widened and he reached out a hand. "Hey babe, is something—"

He was cut off by an ear-piercing scream, which silenced the entire room; they all winced and closed their eyes reflexively. When Tish opened hers again, Ranko had disappeared. "Where?…"

Allison tugged on Tish's arm, and pointed up. They all craned their necks and looked up; there, fifteen feet above their heads, Ranko clung to the ceiling, trembling. She peeped back over her shoulder, staring down at the cat-man, her eyes wide as saucers. The deathly silence continued as everyone in the room stared right back up at her. Tish wondered if her roommate had gecko blood; how could she possibly hang on to the ceiling like that?

_Let's worry about that later_. She slapped the freshman on the arm. "Go stand behind that curtain!" she ordered.

"But…"

"_Go!_" urged Tish. The teenager swallowed, nodded, and hightailed it for the curtain, hiding himself from sight. Tish looked up again. Ranko looked a little less terrified, but seemed to be hyperventilating. Tish called softly, "He's gone… it's OK, you can come down now." Ranko seemed to consider this. Jean-Pierre watched in silence, his jaw hanging open.

"Sweet Jesus, what on Earth?…" Megan released the breath she'd been holding.

"My dad says it's called Ailurophobia," answered Tish. "She's afraid of cats. I had no idea she was _this _afraid, though." She looked up, and tried again in Japanese. "_It's OK, Ranko. The cat is gone. You can come down now, ne?_"

Ranko nodded shakily. She dropped from the ceiling, landing as easily as if she'd jumped off a curb. She looked up at Tish with big eyes.

Tish shook her head sadly. "Ranko, you should have told me you were this _oof!_" She was cut off when her roommate threw her arms around her and buried her face in her kimono, trembling. Without hesitation Tish hugged her back, as Megan, Allison, and Jean-Pierre looked on quietly. The room quickly grew noisy again as conversation resumed.

Soon Ranko let go, and started to mumble, "I'm sorry… He… he surprised me… I… I'm OK now."

Tish put a hand on her arm. "Do you want to go back to the room?"

Ranko shook her head forcefully. "N-no. I want to stay here. He… he's not really a… a c… a c… c-cat, and… and I will be OK. It… it was just… surprise." She let out a long, long sigh. "Th-thank you, Tish." She offered up a slightly damp smile.

Tish smiled warmly. "Anytime."

Ranko nodded in gratitude, then looked down at her feet. She sighed, looked up again at Tish with a resigned smile, then knelt to start cleaning up the mess she'd made. Tish knelt down to help, and after a moment Megan and Allison joined them.

Jean-Pierre watched them work for a moment, then went over to the curtains. He took his plastic sword out and used the broad side to swat gently at the shape inside. "You can come out now, _mon ami_." The student peeped out from his hiding place, and warily looked around.

Jean-Pierre regarded the young man coolly. "It would appear that she has no taste for cats." He waggled the toy sword for emphasis. "I think it would be best if you were to stay away from her, no?"

The freshman looked Jean-Pierre up and down, taking in his slightly hard-edged expression. He had a strong feeling the senior was not just referring to the rest of the evening. The boy nodded slowly, sighed, and wandered off.

They all stood up, the cleanup finished, and Tish watched Ranko watch the cat-man go, a sober expression on her face; she seemed nervous but in control of herself. Tish saw her roommate shiver, then turn back to the hors d'oeuvres and start to put a new plate together. As she busied herself, she seemed to recover further, and soon the happy smile was back on her face, as if the whole thing had never happened.

Tish shook her head slightly. _Ranko, what in God's name happened to you?_

* * *

><p>End Chapter 4<p>

Thursday, December 22, 2005

**Copyright Notice **

The characters and stories of Ranma ½ are Copyright © Rumiko Takahashi, and are used here without permission or license.

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.

This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.

This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Ranma ½ characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Ranma ½ as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

All original characters and story elements expressed herein are Copyright © 2002-2005 by the author.


	5. Chapter 5: Meet the Williamses

Notes from Juilliard

By ClassicalGal

Chapter 5

* * *

><p>A chill wind blew, and the pedestrians on Broadway pulled their coats a little tighter about them. There were a surprising number of them out despite the cold and darkness of the early morning: lots of folks had to be at work by 6 or 6:30. The bone-chilling wind gave them pause, but they focused on the promise of reaching the warmth of their workplace. Those who were lucky enough to work indoors, anyway.<p>

The pre-dawn stillness was suddenly shattered by the far-off, mournful wail of a police siren. The passersby all looked up as the police cruiser hurtled down the concrete canyon, its lights flashing and its klaxon blaring. The early morning traffic paused and waited as the patrol car took the right of way, shooting through red lights in intersection after intersection. The volume of the siren swelled as it drew nearer.

A few onlookers watched, curious, as the cruiser pulled up in front of Precinct 20. Their curiosity grew when the officer driving the car got out and walked around to the rear door on the curb side, then opened it. Their eyes bulged when a tiny Asian girl with red hair, wearing a karate outfit, climbed out and smiled at the man.

"Thank you, Officer Martin."

"Told ya I'd get ya here on time, Ms. Saotome." He winked. "You go give 'em hell, OK?"

The redhead giggled. "OK." She jogged quickly up the steps and made her way inside.

The pedestrians all blinked, shook their heads, and went on their way.

Ranko made her way through the front door. The sergeant on duty gave a cheery wave. "Mornin', Ms. Saotome." A drunk sitting on the wooden bench along one wall gaped and stared.

She waved back. "Good morning, Sergeant Gannet!" She proceeded down the hallway past the administrative offices, waving and greeting people as she made her way to the rear of the station. She passed through a connecting passageway to the police training gym in the next building, and made her way out onto the main floor. There she found her students diligently working on their katas. She glanced at the clock on one wall and smiled: 5:57 AM. She'd made it with three minutes to spare.

She started her own kata, and was soon moving rapidly and efficiently through her warmup. She kept a close eye on the clock, and when it hit 6 AM she turned to face her class.

"Good morning, everyone."

Her class responded, "Good morning, Sensei." All except one man…

Ranko's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, you were not here last week. Are you a new student?"

The young man regarded her coolly. "Hector Rodriguez, Miss." Several of the students frowned at the slightly disrespectful form of address, though it was lost on Ranko.

Ranko smiled. "I'm Ranko Saotome, Mr. Rodriguez. I'm very pleased to meet you. Are you from precinct 20?"

Hector shook his head. "No, Miss. I'm from Precinct 51, in the Bronx."

She nodded. "Welcome to my class, Mr. Rodriguez. Do you have a ranking?"

He nodded. "Black Belt, Eighth Dan in Aikido, Tae Kwon Do, and Kung Fu." He stood a little straighter.

Ranko's face lit up. "Really?"

Hector mistook her reaction for awe. "Yeah. I won the NYPD tournament last three years running." He puffed out his chest a little. "I'm the best." Several of the other students studied their feet.

Ranko raised an eyebrow. "The best?"

Hector nodded. "Yeah. I came here 'cause my partner told me he heard there was this great sensei downtown." He looked her up and down. "Is that who you're supposed to be?" The other students remained silent, but several of them were glaring at him.

Ranko blushed very prettily. "Well, I'm pretty good, I think."

Hector tried hard not to roll his eyes. This "great sensei" was nothing but some high school girl! He grinned. "Shall we find out?"

He was totally caught off guard when Ranko's face lit up again. There was something about that expression that was very familiar; he had a strong sense of _deja vu_. _I know I've seen that look before, but where?_

Ranko addressed her students. "OK, class, this morning before we start our lesson we will have a short demonstration of the dangers of overconfidence." Hector suddenly felt a chill run up his spine. The smug grins on his fellow students' faces didn't help.

He watched as Ranko turned to face him again. She seemed to simply relax, just standing there, not in any kind of stance at all. "Ready when you are, Mr. Rodriguez."

He nodded, and assumed his own stance. "Go ahead," she called.

He narrowed his eyes; she was wide open. He didn't like to beat up a young girl, but she _was _supposed to be a martial artist.

He charged her like lightning, his fist lashing out. The sheer speed of his attack had won him many a tournament prize. His eyes bulged as it passed through empty space. He looked wildly about. Where had she gone?

"Up here, Mr. Rodriguez." He looked up to find her perched on his head. She leapt off, somersaulting fifteen feet through the air, and landed lightly in the same relaxed stance she had been in before. Her eyes were dancing. Some of his classmates snickered.

Hector swallowed. She had _that _look on her face again, and he finally recognized it. It was the look his four-year-old daughter had when she came to bounce on the bed on Saturday mornings, shouting, "Daddy, wake up! It's time to play!"

* * *

><p>"Mr. Rodriguez."<p>

Hector halted his slow, painful progress towards the men's locker room. He turned around. "Yes, Sensei?"

She smiled at him. "I was very, very impressed. Your training is excellent."

Hector tried to smile, though it came out more like a grimace. "Thank you, Sensei."

"You are my first student who I think could learn the basics of aerial combat. I would like you to work with me on that next week."

_Aerial combat? _Hector nodded. "Yes, Sensei." She smiled, and he turned back towards the locker room.

"Oh, and Mr. Rodriguez?"

He turned back. "Yes, Sensei?"

"You won't judge opponents based on their appearance in the future, will you?"

Every muscle in Hector's body raised its voice in chorus for his reply. "No, Sensei."

She smiled. "Good." She nodded. "That's all. I'll see you next week." He nodded and resumed his journey of pain.

Behind him, he heard her exclaim, "Oh my, look at the time! And I still have to wash my hair!" He sighed and shook his head as he shuffled along.

Ranko hurried down the hall, anxious to get back to Lincoln Center so she could shower and get to her studies. Captain Weiler popped his head out of his office. "Ms. Saotome? Do you have a moment?"

She nodded. "Yes, though I'm a little late…"

He smiled. "Don't worry, Officer Martin will get you there on time. I just wanted to tell you that all your students give you really high marks."

Ranko smiled happily. "I'm very pleased to hear that, Captain."

"Considering how the class size has grown and how well things are going, I didn't have much trouble convincing the Commissioner to raise your rate to $150 a class."

Ranko's jaw dropped, and for a moment she was speechless. "Th-thank you, Captain. I… I don't deserve so much money…"

He shook his head. "Oh yes you do, Ms. Saotome."

She bowed deeply, embarrassed. When she rose, he smiled at her and jerked his eyes towards the front of the station. "Now go, or you're gonna be late."

She nodded. "Yes, Captain. Thank you." She turned and sprinted for the front door.

The passersby watched in mild curiosity as a tiny redheaded Asian girl bounded down the steps of Precinct 20 and climbed into the back of a waiting patrol car. The door closed, and the car took off with its lights flashing and its siren wailing. They shook their heads, and moved on.

* * *

><p>Akane eyed her older sister doubtfully. "Are you sure you remember how to do this, Oneechan? It's been years since you did anything with the Art."<p>

Nabiki snorted. "If I was sure, I wouldn't have asked you for help… Sensei."

Akane inclined her head in acknowledgment. "You're sure this is all you want to do? It would really be a healthier regimen if you did some katas, some punches and kicks—"

"I'm sure."

Akane sighed. "OK. You do need to get in a good stance, though. Why don't you see if you can remember?"

Nabiki adjusted her borrowed gi, then assumed a ready stance.

Akane nodded. "Not bad, not bad at all. It's been, what, fifteen years?"

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen years…" whispered Akane. She shook herself, and started walking around her older sister. "No, not like that. Your elbow is too extended. Pull it in a little bit." Nabiki complied.

Akane completed her circuit. "OK, I want you to throw a few punches."

"Can't we just get on with it?"

Akane frowned. "If I don't check you out properly first, you could hurt yourself badly… Student."

Nabiki sighed. "Yes, Sensei."

Nabiki spent the next few minutes punching at an imaginary target. Her arms hurt a little, until her childhood training began to come back to her, and she started to get into the rhythm of it. _The last time I did this, Mom was in the hospital… _She cut off that train of thought. _Funny, I have trouble remembering very much from back then, but I feel like I never really forgot this…_

Akane watched her closely, evaluating every punch, every motion. Occasionally, she'd make a suggestion: "You're overextending your shoulder," "Remember, turn and use your torso, not just your arm." Nabiki adjusted her punches and continued.

Finally, Akane called "Stop." Nabiki stopped punching, and Akane nodded slowly. "That's probably enough for this. It's a beginner's move, anyway." She motioned with her head. "Come over here, and we'll try one." Nabiki followed her over.

"Now, do you remember what I told you?"

Nabiki nodded. "Aim for just past the surface."

"Right! OK, I want you to try it while I watch."

Nabiki nodded. She concentrated for a moment, then struck. "Hyahhh_owwwww_!" She shook her hand briskly.

Akane nodded. "Not bad, or you would have broken your hand. Try it again, and pull it tighter this time."

Nabiki shook her hand for a few more seconds, then tried to concentrate again. _Just past the surface… _She focused her mind, and struck. "Hyaahh!"

She was rewarded when the cinder block cracked and fell to pieces. Akane tried hard not to smile when her big sister, the Ice Queen, looked up with a goofy, proud grin on her face, like a child who was showing off her first crayon drawing to her parents. "Well done. Want to try it again?" Nabiki nodded, and Akane picked up another cinder block and put it on the sawhorse. "Hit it more centrally and it'll crumble, not just crack."

Nabiki focused intently. Instead of a simple grunt, as she struck she called out "Your tea is ready, _Chief_!" The cinder block crumbled to tiny pieces. She stared at it for a long moment, then let out her breath in a low, satisfied drawl: "Ohhhh yeahhhh…" Akane couldn't help chuckling.

Nabiki looked up. "Sensei?"

"Yes?"

"I want to practice for a while."

Akane nodded, a sober expression on her face. "Of course. I think you're doing well enough now; it looks like it's coming back to you." She turned to leave.

"Akane?"

She turned back. "Yes?"

"Thanks." Nabiki smiled a rare, heartfelt smile. "I needed this."

Akane shook her head. "Anytime, Oneechan." She turned and left.

As she exited the dojo, over her shoulder she heard, "I got you fresh flowers, _Chief_!" followed by the crack of a cinder block disintegrating. She shook her head sadly as she made her way back to the house, pausing a moment to watch the rain falling from the dark, leaden sky.

* * *

><p><em>To: Akane Tendou [akane at tendoudoujou dot co dot jp]<em>

_From: Ranko Saotome [rsaotome at juilliard dot edu]_

_Date: Thursday, November 11, 2004_

_Subject: (none)_

_Hi Sis,_

_How are you today? How is everyone? I was so sorry to hear about Nabiki-neechan. It sounds like her boss is making her life miserable. I wonder sometimes if he isn't jealous because she's so smart. I feel like you and I have been lucky this way; we've pretty much gotten to do what we love in life. Even Kasumi-neechan is finally getting on with her life. If there is anything I can do to help Nabiki-neechan feel better, let me know. At least please give her a hug for me and tell her I love her._

_Things have been a little bit hard recently, as everyone is getting ready for the big orchestra trip to San Francisco next week. They're all leaving on Monday so they'll have a few days to rehearse there. I keep telling myself that most of the soloists aren't going, so it's no big deal that I'm not. I may not be able to look at myself very objectively, but I can look at some of the other soloists who didn't go, the ones I ranked ahead of, and I know they're very good. Still, I'm determined to work on my problem and land a spot on the spring trip to Washington D.C. It's not that I need to be the best, but I need to be the best I can be. If I thought this was as good as I could be, I'd be content, but I don't believe that._

_I think those of us who are still here will have some fun, working on chamber music, and I'm looking forward to that. Professor Vasilev is staying, so I'll be able to keep working with him. Jean-Pierre is going, so no sonatas next week. Also no flirting. I hate to admit it, but I'll miss working with him more than I'll be happy to be rid of the flirting. He's easily the best pianist I've ever worked with. If only he would get it through his head that he's not my boyfriend. Boys are such perverts. ^_~_

_The American students are all still talking about the presidential election. It really surprised me how worked up everyone got. It made me wonder what Japanese politics would be like if there were a real choice. I'm not sure we'd know how to cope with it! Tish voted, but she didn't stay up to watch the returns like the other Americans._

_I'm thinking of telling Tish about the Cat Fist. After the party last week, she knows how much cats affect me, and that incident made me think about what would happen if I went into the Cat Fist while I'm here. I need to have someone here who knows what to do if it happens, and I know Tish could deal with it. I'm still mulling it over, though. It's embarrassing, and it doesn't reflect very well on Father. When I've told people about it they usually ask why I still have anything to do with him. I'm not planning to tell her about Ranma, though. It's a good thing I don't go into the "Guy Fist" and start running around smashing beer cans against my head. ^_^_

_My martial arts classes are going well. I have a new student who is very talented. I started teaching him aerial combat this week, and he's doing pretty well. I think before I come home next spring I might be able to teach him some ki moves. If I can get him far enough along he should be able to teach the other students even after I leave._

_Sometimes it's frustrating to struggle with my violin when martial arts is so easy by comparison, but at the same time that's part of the fun, to be pushing myself, to be growing. It's both maddening and wonderful. Certainly my violin problems are among the hardest challenges I've ever faced, but I learned from one of the women I admire most to never give up. Thanks, Sis._

_The money is coming in handy, too: my friend Eimi really likes to shop! I can't complain too much, though; I really needed some new clothes, and Eimi knows the cheapest places to shop in New York and New Jersey. I got a really cute corduroy jumper recently, and a turtleneck to go with it. Some tights and long boots and I'm plenty warm enough. I was getting tired of wearing nothing but pants. I'm still looking for a new formal gown; my old one is on its last legs._

_All in all, I'm really enjoying it here. I know I'm growing as an artist. If only you, and Ryouga, and the rest of the family were here, though. I miss you all so much._

_Lots of love,_

_Ranko_

* * *

><p>"Over there," motioned the driver, not looking up from his clipboard.<p>

Ranko looked over to the large pile of suitcases next to the open luggage doors of the large bus. It, and another like it, were parked on 65th street, waiting for passengers. Her fellow students were scattered around the general area in small groups, and the air was full with the hubbub of their excited conversations. She smiled.

She nodded to the driver, and toted the large brown suitcase over, gently lowering it next to the others. Her roommate Harya Prakash, her gloved hands full with her oboe case, flashed a grateful smile. "Thanks, Ranko. That suitcase is always a little more than I can handle, especially with my oboe."

Ranko smiled back and shook her head. She was wearing gloves too, as well as a light beige knit hat pulled down over her hair. It was unusually nippy for mid-November, but the hat kept her warm, and she noticed the beautiful deep blue sky rather than the cold.

"You could have carried mine, too," teased her other roommate, Anne Raffo, as she laboriously dragged her own suitcase over.

Flora Ho arrived, carrying her viola and pulling a wheeled suitcase. "You only have flute to carry, Anne. That doesn't count." They all laughed.

Jean-Pierre walked over, dressed in a navy pea coat and warm scarf. "I see you are demonstrating your prowess with luggage again, eh?" Ranko stuck out a tongue, eliciting another round of laughs from her roommates.

"She has your number, Jean-Pierre!" gloated Anne.

"Of course she does, I gave it to her," shot back Jean-Pierre, and they all groaned.

Ranko sighed and shook her head. "I just wanted to say goodbye and good luck to everyone." She waited a beat. "Even you, Jean-Pierre." She winked. There was a cheer of approval from her roommates.

Jean-Pierre held up his hands in mock surrender. "I give up, I am outnumbered. I will retire to fight another day. Hopefully I will do better with Rachmaninoff."

Ranko smiled a warm smile. "I'm sure you will. You are the best pianist I know." Jean-Pierre seemed taken by surprise, and for a moment Ranko saw vulnerability again, as she had that day in the park. They looked at each other for a long moment, then averted their eyes.

Anne looked back and forth between them. "Do I detect a chemistry experiment in progress here?"

Ranko blushed. "No, I am engaged."

The moment was lost; the know-it-all smile returned to Jean-Pierre's face. "Ah yes, the usual excuse."

Ranko bit back an angry reply; this was just his usual game and the best thing to do was to play it right back at him. "Besides, I think I failed chemistry." Her roommates' laughter defused the tension. She and Jean-Pierre exchanged glances again, and his eyes sparkled.

She was saved further repartée by the blare of a bullhorn. "Students on bus number 1, please board now. If your number is between 1 and 62, please board bus number 1 now. Please be quick, ladies and gentlemen, we have a plane to catch."

Ranko looked over her three roommates. "Good luck, everyone. I'll be sure to listen on the Internet and read the reviews." The four women exchanged hugs.

"Don't I get one too?" asked Jean-Pierre in a pitiful voice.

"No," replied Ranko, and everyone laughed.

Just then Allison Yamamoto came hurrying up, out of breath, her suitcase in one hand and her clarinet case in the other. "Some day," she wheezed, "I'll make it with more than two minutes to spare." Ranko giggled as Allison put her suitcase with the others. The driver was already busy loading them into the luggage compartment as the students boarded.

Allison collected herself, and turned to face Ranko. "I'll be thinking of you."

Her petite friend shook her head, smiling. "No, Allison, think about the music, not me."

Allison laughed, "Well, OK." She gave Ranko a hug. "Next time for sure, right?"

They separated and smiled at each other. Ranko nodded firmly. "Right."

Her friends went to board the bus as Ranko waved to them; all except Jean-Pierre, who lingered a moment. He regarded her quietly, a troubled expression on his face. He almost looked like he wanted to say something.

She looked up into his eyes, trying to figure out what was on his mind. "Jean-Pierre, I meant it. You will be great, I'm sure. I'll listen." He nodded slowly. She tilted her head, not understanding. "What is it?"

He just shook his head. "Nothing." He looked back over his shoulder at the line of students that was disappearing into the bus. "I guess it's time." He turned back to face her, his expression sober.

He still looked a little down, and on impulse she reached out both her hands and took one of his, shaking it a little. "Have a good trip, OK? I'll see you next week."

He seemed to brighten a little. "OK." They looked into each others' eyes for a moment, and Ranko felt her cheeks grow warm; she released his hand, a tad hastier than she'd meant to. She expected some cutting remark, but he just looked at her seriously for a moment longer, then turned to leave.

She watched him go, a little confused about what had just happened. Had his cheeks been slightly red as well? She tried to collect herself and started scanning the bus windows for her roommates.

Peter Vasilev walked up to stand beside her as she waved to her friends on the bus, a big smile on her face. "You look cheery, Ranko-chan," he observed. "Feeling better?"

She nodded happily. "Yes. Yes, I am. I have not lost a competition in a long time, and I forgot what it felt like." She waved more energetically as the bus pulled out, and her roommates waved back just as enthusiastically. Her hand slowed as the bus turned the corner onto Broadway, then disappeared; she lowered her arm to her side. "When you lose a competition, you focus on improving your weak points so you win the next one."

Peter smiled. "Your martial arts training has stood you in good stead, hasn't it?"

She nodded slowly, briefly watching the last students board bus number 2. "Yes. It taught me many good lessons for life, not just martial arts." By mutual consent, they turned back towards the school, crossing the plaza together. "I will have another chance soon, I'm sure."

Peter smiled, his eyes crinkling. "Sooner than you think, perhaps." He schooled his features. "Are you familiar with Vivaldi's Four Seasons?"

Ranko blinked, uncertain at the _non sequitur_. "Well, of course, though I haven't played them. I've played some of his chamber music, and one of his other concerti, though. Why?"

Peter blew into his hands to warm them up. "We had a guest soloist cancel for December 10. Mei-Lin Chen was going to play all four with the Juilliard string ensemble, in Alice Tully Hall. It's a public concert."

Ranko blinked. "What happened? Is she all right?"

He laughed. "Pregnancy happened. She's expecting again, and had to cut back her schedule. Something had to give, and it wound up being us." He glanced over at Ranko; she was smiling. "How would you like to fill in?"

That stopped the redhead short. "Me? But… why not one of the soloists with a rank higher than mine?"

"Claire Hellman is going on the San Francisco trip, and you tied for fifth with the only other violin soloist who might have got it." He smiled. "You won the toss; here's your chance." His smile widened into a grin as her surprise slowly turned to delight. "Can you be ready in less than four weeks?"

Ranko nodded confidently, a sunny smile on her face. "I'm sure of it."

Peter chuckled. "I thought so."

* * *

><p>"Tish?"<p>

Tish popped the buds out of her ears and paused her music player. She propped herself up on her elbows to look over the edge of the bed. "_What?_" she asked, in Japanese.

Ranko was holding her violin case. "_I just thought of something I wanted to try. Do you mind?_" She looked down at her pajamas. "_I don't want to get dressed again just to go out to the practice room for five minutes._"

Tish smiled. "_Sure, go ahead._" She turned off her player and laid aside the script she'd been studying.

"_Thanks!_" Ranko pulled out her violin and flipped through some sheet music that was open on her desk. She spent a few seconds tuning her instrument, then launched suddenly into a furious passage from the concerto she was working on at the moment—"Winter." Tish watched, rapt, as the bow and Ranko's fingers moved at speeds she hadn't thought possible. Despite the complexity of the passage, each note was crisp and clear; they sparkled like stars in a pitch black sky. Tish was only a casual listener, but even she could tell that Ranko's technique was unparalleled.

Ranko stopped abruptly, scribbled briefly on her score, then started playing again. Tish couldn't make out the notes from her vantage point atop her bed, but she could see the exclamation points here and there, and grinned. Similar exclamation points could be found on her scripts.

After a few more passages, Ranko scribbled some last notes on her score, then started to put everything away.

"_All done?_"

Ranko turned to look up at Tish, and smiled. "_Yes, thanks. I had an idea and I wanted to try it out._"

"_And?_"

Ranko looked off to one side. "_It didn't quite work like I thought it would, but it gave me another idea which I think __**will**_ _work. I'll try that tomorrow._"

"_This is coming up in about three weeks, right?_"

Ranko nodded. "_Yes, I'm filling in for a guest soloist who couldn't make it._"

"_Is everything going OK?_"

Ranko smiled. "_I think so. I'll pretty much have to practice nonstop until then._"

Tish thought about that for a while. "_Ranko, do you have plans for next week?_"

Ranko slowly shook her head. "_No… what's happening next week?_"

Tish smiled. "_It's Thanksgiving. Pretty much all the American students are going to disappear for most of the week to go home and see their families. Wednesday through Friday are school holidays, and the school will be closed._"

"_Oh,_" said Ranko. "_I guess it'll be pretty quiet here, then._" She seemed very pensive.

Tish watched her for a while. The petite redhead's eyes were unfocused, and she looked a little blue. Tish knew her roommate was very family-oriented, and missed her family back in Tokyo terribly. She and the other roommates were Ranko's surrogate family here… and most of them would be gone for the holiday.

Tish bit her lip. "_Would… would you like to come home with me to Boston for Thanksgiving?_"

Ranko blinked. "_But isn't it a family holiday? Won't I be in the way?_"

Tish grinned and shook her head. "_Not at all. It wouldn't be the first time I've brought someone home. Dad and Thomas don't mind, and with just the three of us it tends to be a little quiet._" She winked. "_You can help me and Thomas cook._" Ranko chuckled. "Y_ou could practice, too. We have a nice big old house in Cambridge, and you'd have your own room._" Ranko nodded slowly, then stood up, stretching while she did so.

She smiled up at Tish. "_It… it sounds wonderful, but could you check with your father? I'd hate to barge in on a family gathering._"

Tish nodded. "_Sure thing. I'll call him in the morning._"

Ranko furrowed her brow in thought. "_What do you do on Thanksgiving, anyway?_"

Tish smiled. "_See your friends and family, and spend time with them._" She paused. "_Overeat on a massive scale._"

Ranko grinned. "_It sounds like my kind of holiday._"

"_I knew you'd approve._"

* * *

><p>Hibiki Aneha closed the door to the laundry room behind her, and hefted the large laundry basket she'd set down. It was piled high with clean laundry, all of it dry thanks to the dryer that she'd splurged on last year. She only used the machine when she couldn't hang her laundry out, which was certainly the case today; there was a downpour outside. The dryer consumed far too much electricity to use it all the time.<p>

She still needed to fold everything; sadly, the dryer wouldn't do that. She heard her son's voice coming from the living room, and smiled. She might have to fold laundry, but there was no reason she couldn't have company while she did it. Like the laundry, Ryouga was staying indoors today to avoid getting wet.

As she entered the room she came in on the middle of his phone conversation. "…Thanksgiving? No kidding?" Ryouga, ensconced in an armchair, smiled and gave a little wave to his mother as she sat herself down and set to work. She watched, and listened to half a conversation.

"So when are you going? … Wednesday? Are you gonna drive? … Oh, they have trains in America? I thought everyone drove… Uh-huh… uh-huh…" He grinned. "Sounds like fun."

He listened for a while more, then laughed. "That was really nice of her. Hey, Mom is here. You wanna say Hi to her?" He nodded. "OK, just a sec. You should tell her that story about your friend." He handed the phone over. "Mom, she wants to say Hi."

Aneha paused in her labors and brought the phone to her ear. "Hello, Dear."

Her future daughter-in-law's voice came from the earpiece. "Hello, Mother. How are you?"

"I'm just fine, Dear. Things are a little lonely around here with Father gone, but he should be back in a week or two. My goodness, I still can't believe I can count on things like that these days. How about you?"

"Busy, busy, busy. I'm giving a public performance of Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons' in a little less than three weeks. I've never played them before, so I've been practicing a lot. The orchestra came back from San Francisco today, so I'll be practicing with the Juilliard String Ensemble starting tomorrow."

Aneha didn't understand all the details, but couldn't miss how excited her son's fiancée was. "That's wonderful, Dear. I wish we could listen to it."

"You can! Juilliard webcasts all their concerts these days, for the students who can't attend, and for families. They don't put the information on their public website, but I can send Ryouga the details and you can listen in on his computer. I listened to all the performances in San Francisco that way."

Aneha beamed. "We'll be sure to do that, Dear. What was this story about your friend?"

"Oh, my friend Allison Yamamoto—she's third generation Japanese-American—she had told me all about San Francisco before I knew I wasn't going. Since I didn't go, she brought back a few jars of fudge sauce from an ice cream place she told me about. She brought that and some ice cream and bananas and things over to my suite tonight and we all made our own hot fudge sundaes! We had a blast eating sundaes and talking about how the trip went. It was kind of like a party, but it ended early because the girls who went on the trip were pretty worn out."

"She sounds like a good friend."

"Yes, I've made a lot of friends here in America. I was surprised at how many."

"I'm not surprised at all, Dear. You're a sweetheart."

"Mother!"

Aneha could almost hear the blush from the other end, and laughed. "Well, it's true. I'm going to give you back to Ryou-chan now, all right? Take care, Dear."

"Take care, Mother." Aneha handed the phone over to Ryouga.

Her son leaned back in his chair. "Me? Not much. Midterms went OK." He snorted. "Yeah, I did use the computer to write my term paper after all. Your sister threatened to repossess my GPS receiver if I didn't." He blushed. "It's just as well, it did make things easier." He grinned. "She is one lady who definitely knows how to get what she wants."

He listened for a while, his smile fading. "Yeah… yeah." He sighed. "She oughta tell the old fool off and quit… Yeah, I guess she's like you; she's not a quitter." Suddenly he sat up straight. "Me? Umm… umm, that's going great! I've got some leads for a few dojos." Aneha stopped folding laundry and blinked. "I'll talk it over with you when you come home for New Year's, and, umm, take you to see some of them. Uhhh, no, I don't have… umm, I haven't worked out the financial details yet." Aneha started frowning, and Ryouga waved at her to keep quiet.

As he listened, Ryouga's stiffness left him, and he leaned back in the chair again. "Yeah… yeah, I'm looking forward to that, too. More than anything." He smiled a small, quiet smile, relaxing further. "The two of us, living our lives together… Yeah… Yeah, me too. You mean the world to me, Honey. Yeah… yeah. Love you too. Bye." He pushed the button to hang up, the tension of a few moments earlier forgotten, a contented smile on his face.

It didn't last. "Ryou-chan, I thought you told me that the dojos you looked into were far beyond what you could manage financially. You said the economy was so bad you haven't even been able to find someone willing to take you on as an employee, much less be an owner. Why didn't you tell her all that?"

Ryouga sighed, seeming to deflate. "She's stressed out with her studies, Mom. She didn't need to hear that I can't find a job."

Aneha was shaking her head. "Ryou-chan, you said it yourself. You'll be living your lives together; you'll be husband and wife. You should share everything, the good times and the bad. You have to, for your marriage to work."

Ryouga stared at the floor for a long time. "Mom… I know, but right now I'm not there to support her, to hold her, to make her happy. She's got enough problems, and I don't need to lay mine on her, too." He looked up. "I promise, I'll tell her when she's here for New Year's. It'll be so much easier when she's in the same room."

"Ryou-chan," said Aneha gently, "they're not just your problems. They're her problems, too. She's going to be your wife."

Ryouga nodded. "I know. But I know her, too. When there's something wrong and she can't do anything to help, it drives her crazy. If I tell her when she comes home, I'll be able to help her work off that energy before she goes back." His gaze hardened. "I don't want her worrying 6,000 kilometers away where I can't cheer her up." He added quietly, "She deserves to be happy."

Aneha sighed. "I hope you're right, Dear." She started to fold laundry again. Ryouga stared out the window at the dreary, wet day, his mind far, far away.

* * *

><p>"Providence!" blared the loudspeaker. "Station stop Providence in approximately five minutes. Providence!"<p>

Ranko watched as some of the passengers rose wearily and started to collect their belongings. Luggage overflowed the overhead racks and the closets at either end of the car; the train was absolutely packed. She and Tish had been lucky to find two seats together.

As she watched, she felt the train start to gently decelerate. She glanced out the window, and watched the somewhat decrepit urban landscape as it crawled by. When they'd left Penn Station, Ranko had waited patiently for the train to accelerate… and waited… until they'd gotten to New Haven. After the trains in Japan, she couldn't quite believe how slow this one was. No wonder it took so many hours to get to Boston, a distance the bullet train would have covered in just one.

Playing her violin would disturb the other passengers, and the train was too crowded to do any stretching or katas, so she'd tried to pass the time reading some sheet music: cadenzas by Kreisler, Heifetz, and others for the more popular violin concerti. That had kept her busy for a while, but with her violin off limits there was only so much she could accomplish. The cadenzas had given her some ideas of her own… for which she needed to play her violin. Tish was busy with her own work, so eventually, she'd had to settle for looking out the window.

The train drifted lazily over some crosspoints, beating out a noisy percussion as it worked its way over to a different track. It slowed even more, and a platform appeared outside the window, thick with people peering in as Ranko peered out. Faces in the crowd lit up as loved ones were recognized; children shrieked with excitement.

Finally, the train came to a halt. "Providence!" insisted the loudspeaker. "Providence!" Passengers started to shuffle out the doors at either end of the car, and Ranko yawned.

Tish looked up from her reading and smiled at her roommate. "Bored?"

Ranko rolled her eyes and nodded. "Very." She blinked. "You're speaking English."

Tish nodded. "I want to get in the habit." She blushed slightly. "Dad thinks I overdo it on the Japanese."

Ranko grinned at her roommate. She looked back out the window at the throng of people on the platform, waiting to board or having just gotten off. It was a familiar sight from back home, except that back home nearly everyone on the platform would have been Japanese. The variety of people in America still amazed her.

New passengers started to file onto the train, toting backpacks and suitcases, shuffling past them in quest of open seats. Most of them were college students like themselves, with a few older and younger people thrown in for good measure. Ranko turned back to Tish, who'd buried her nose in her volume of the works of Ibsen again. "Tish, how many more stations until Boston?"

Tish closed her book, chiding herself. She'd only meant to read one scene while Ranko had been busy with her sheet music, but as usual she'd gotten wrapped up and lost track of the time. She really should have been talking to her friend instead. "This is the last one for this train; it's an express. The next stop is Boston. Then we'll take the T to Harvard Square." She noticed her friend's bewildered look. "The T is the subway." Ranko smiled.

Just then the train lurched, accompanied by a muffled curse halfway down the car as someone clutched at the overhead luggage rack to avoid falling. They both looked out the window as the platform slowly started to fall behind. "Next stop is Boston!" shouted the loudspeaker. "Boston, Massachusetts is next!" The wheels clattered as the trained moved over the points once more, crossing onto the main line, gathering speed all the while—or what passed for speed, anyway.

Ranko watched Providence drift by, her view constrained by the depressed right-of-way of the tracks. Buildings, cars, and people were just barely visible above them. Ranko smiled; it reminded her of the part of the Yamanote line between Ueno and Ikebukuro, the route she'd traveled every day on her way to and from the University. "You live close to the University?"

"To the main campus, yes. The medical school is a couple of miles away, though."

Ranko smiled. "Only a couple of miles? That's pretty close."

Tish laughed. "Only by Japanese standards. We could have lived a couple of blocks away."

Ranko looked puzzled. "Why do you live in Cambridge, then?"

The train rose slowly to ground level as it began to leave Providence behind. Tish looked off to one side. "Daddy wanted to live in Cambridge, near the main campus. He likes the atmosphere there, the life of a college town, the chance to interact with people who aren't doctors. The medical school is in the middle of a bunch of hospitals, in Boston proper." She smiled. "Cambridge is much more lively." Ranko nodded slowly.

Tish glanced out the window. "We're in Massachusetts now."

Ranko blinked. "Didn't we just get to Rhode Island?"

Tish grinned. "It's a very small state."

She let her roommate stare out the window at southeastern Massachusetts, until she saw her start to drum her fingers nervously on the armrest. "How's your Vivaldi coming?"

Ranko turned away from the scenery and smiled. "Very well. I've memorized three of the concerti, and the first two sessions with the string ensemble were good. I want to memorize the fourth one over the holiday, so I can work on my intonation and phrasing starting next week."

"How are things with Don Juan?"

Ranko laughed. "I didn't work with him this week because of the Vivaldi. I just had a chance to congratulate him on his performance in San Francisco. He was his usual self." She rolled her eyes, and they both laughed.

Ranko's eyes went to Tish's bag, where the book she'd been reading peeked out. "Is that a play you're working on now?"

Tish smiled. "No, I just like to read my favorite plays for inspiration sometimes. I've acted them out in my head so many times. We're working on Albee this week, 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?'"

"Is there going to be a show I can come see?" Ranko smiled.

Tish shook her head. "We only do a couple of productions for an audience each year. Usually we just do a final run-through for the faculty and other students. That way we can get through more plays, without having to have sets and costumes for each one. My class' next production for the public is in February. I don't know what it is yet; we'll be starting on it after New Year's."

The two of them continued chatting, and both were caught by surprise when the landscape outside the window started to turn urban again. "Boston!" called the loudspeaker. "Boston South Station in approximately ten minutes. Boston! Last stop."

The train tracks paralleled a large elevated highway for a while; it seemed to be packed with traffic. Ranko could catch glimpses of a body of water but couldn't see very much. "Is that the ocean?"

"Well, Massachusetts Bay. I guess it _is _a part of the Atlantic, just sheltered by Cape Cod."

The water was lost to view as the train plunged underground, slowing all the while. The other passengers started to rise and gather their belongings, and the two of them followed suit. Soon, a platform slowly drifted into view. The train rolled along slowly, then finally stopped, its brakes screeching for a few moments. "Boston!" shrieked the loudspeaker. "Boston South Station!" There was a loud hiss as the brakes locked.

Ranko and Tish queued up to exit the car, toting their bags and Ranko's violin. They were carried by the human current out onto a dingy platform, and up a flight of stairs. Even if Tish hadn't been with her, Ranko would have known which way to go; a large "T" heralded the direction to follow, with a smaller sign, "MBTA Red Line straight ahead." They headed down the corridor towards the subway station. When they got there, there was a surprise waiting for them.

Tish's face lit up. "Daddy!" she called, waving. "Thomas!" Ranko's eyes scanned the crowd ahead of them, and lit on Tish's father and a gangly teenage boy who was nearly as tall. They were both smiling and waving.

Tish hurried her pace a little, and Ranko followed suit. The taller girl rushed into her father's arms. "Daddy, you came to meet us!"

Tish's father was smiling broadly. "Of course." He turned his head and nodded. "Welcome to Boston, Ranko."

"Thank you, Dr. Williams."

Thomas cleared his throat. "Why, Oneechan, what a surprise! Fancy running into you at the train station."

Tish grinned and went to hug her brother. "It's good to see you, too, Thomas. I missed you." She turned towards Ranko. "Ranko, this is my little brother, Thomas. Thomas, this is Ranko Saotome, my roommate." Ranko looked up at the teenager. And up…

Thomas patted the top of his sister's head. "Heh. Who's little now, Oneechan?" She stuck a tongue out, and he laughed. He turned his attention to Ranko. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Saotome." He stuck out a hand and shook hers.

Ranko smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Thomas. Did you also go to Japanese schools? You called Tish 'Oneechan.'"

There was a short, awkward silence. "Umm, no," said Thomas. "I didn't go to Japanese schools." The three family members exchanged glances. "I don't really speak Japanese; I've just always called her that, for as long as I can remember."

After five years of being herself again, Ranko had made peace with the fact that some of her personality was unchanged from when she had been Ranma; she could now see her former self in a kinder light. She wished, however, that somewhere along the way she'd managed to lose her talent for putting her foot in it.

* * *

><p>Ranko blinked at the sunlight as the escalator deposited the Williams family and herself at street level. They were right in the middle of Harvard Square; she twisted her neck as she looked around. Shops and restaurants were on one side, and the University was on the other: stately colonial buildings partially hidden behind a tall red brick wall. There was traffic on all sides, seemingly frozen in gridlock, and pedestrians were everywhere, mostly students her own age and mostly in a tearing hurry. The late afternoon sun was low, casting its wan light over the scene, and the air was very chilly. Ranko pulled her hat down a little tighter over her head and adjusted her scarf.<p>

"Our house is this way," shouted Dr. Williams over the din, pointing across the street in the general direction of the shops. They lined up at the pedestrian crosswalk, part of a huge throng.

Some pedestrians were darting back and forth between the stop and go traffic, raising Ranko's eyebrows. She was glad Dr. Williams and his family seemed content to wait for the signal to change.

While they were waiting, Dr. Williams turned and pointed in the opposite direction. "Thomas' high school is down that street. It's very convenient; he can walk to school."

Thomas looked like he was about to say something, but just then the light changed and they were swept along by the crowd. They regrouped on the other side, and Dr. Williams pointed wordlessly down the street. They all followed, swimming through the crowd of pedestrians.

As they got further away from Harvard Square, the noise level fell a little, and Ranko turned to Tish's brother. "What year are you in, Thomas?"

"2004. What year are you in?" replied Thomas.

Tish slugged her brother in the arm. "Behave yourself." She turned to Ranko. "He's a junior. His humor is definitely sophomoric, though."

Ranko laughed; Thomas reminded her somewhat of her friend Yuka's little brother. "Thomas, have you thought about your… umm…"

"My 'umm'?"

Ranko blushed. "Tish, how do you say _shinro _in English?"

"Ah." Tish nodded. "'Your future' or 'your career' or 'your plans.' Something like that."

"Oh, that," said Thomas. "When I grow up I wanna be a curmudgeon."

Tish snorted. "You're there, Thomas." Ranko decided not to ask what a curmudgeon was.

They turned onto a side street, and the noise faded further, allowing them to lower their voices to a normal level. Dr. Williams turned to look at his guest. "Don't let my son get to you, Ranko. He's a comedian."

Ranko smiled and shook her head. "I have a friend back home who has a little brother. He's kind of the same way."

"And here I thought I was unique," groused Thomas. He turned serious and thought for a few moments. "Not sure yet. I guess I'll decide when I get to college. I like math; maybe I'll do something with that." Ranko noticed the proud smile on Dr. Williams' face, and smiled herself; Thomas was clearly not telling all.

Nearly ten minutes from the subway station, Tish pointed. "There," she said. "That's our house."

Ranko looked up the street. Sandwiched in between two multistory apartment buildings was a large two-story colonial-style house covered with white clapboard, and sporting sky blue shutters on the windows; she could not tell its age. It suddenly occurred to her that if the Williamses lived in a house like this in the middle of a dense, upscale urban area, they must be rather wealthy. "How old is it?" she asked.

Dr. Williams replied, "It dates from the end of the nineteenth century. Luckily for us, it hasn't been declared a historic landmark yet."

Ranko looked the house up and down as they walked up the front steps. "Why is that lucky?"

Dr. Williams was fumbling in his pocket for a key. "When we moved in, the bathrooms and kitchen badly needed updating. If this house had been a landmark it would have been much harder to get the remodeling permits." He opened a storm door and unlocked the large, black wooden front door, pushing it open. Ranko and the others followed him in.

"Yeah," said Thomas. "It had these tiny little claw foot bathtubs. Man, were they cold to step into on winter mornings."

Ranko looked around, and was immediately entranced. Whatever they might have done with the bathrooms and kitchen, the rest of the house was like something out of an old movie or book. It had wood everywhere, from the massive railings on the staircase to the arches between rooms to the trim on the walls and the ceilings, all of it carved with elaborate filigree. The lighting looked liked the original gas fixtures converted to electric use. She felt like she had gone back in time by a century.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. She noticed that her hosts were following the Japanese custom of removing their shoes, and started to do the same.

"Thank you," said Dr. Williams. "It was like this when we bought it, and we tried to preserve as much as we could. We actually pulled out some modern things that seemed out of place." He was hanging up his coat. "Tish, why don't you show Ranko to her room so she can put her luggage away?"

Tish nodded. "Come on, it's upstairs, next to mine." Ranko followed her roommate up the stairs, peeking around corners with the curiosity of a five year old. The upstairs was more of the same decor; she continued to goggle, never having been in a house like this before. They reached the upper floor, and Tish led her down the landing and through a wooden doorway.

The taller girl waved her arm around. "The guest room." The room had antique furniture and lacy curtains, and a big four-poster bed with a large, goose-down comforter. Ranko was grinning madly; this was like something out of "Anne of Green Gables." Five years ago she'd never even heard of "Anne of Green Gables," but once she'd become a redheaded girl she'd heard all about it—from her mother, her sisters, her girlfriends, and not a few total strangers who'd stopped her on the street. She'd finally read the book in self-defense.

"There's no central heat," continued Tish, "but there are heaters in the individual rooms."

"That's OK. Our house in Tokyo is traditional Japanese style. It doesn't have central heat either."

Tish nodded. "Why don't you put your stuff down and I'll show you where the bathroom is." A moment later they went back out the door and down the hall. Tish was ticking off landmarks: "My room, Thomas' room, my father's room." She paused at a wooden door. "The bath." She had an enigmatic smile on her face. Ranko, her curiosity piqued, pushed the door open.

The interior of the bath was definitely not nineteenth century New England. Rather, it was a very up-to-date hybrid of a Western and Japanese bathroom. There was a shower and a toilet, but there was also a very large Japanese-style tub. "Daddy had to have a wall moved to make room for the tub." Tish grinned. "He got addicted to Japanese baths when we lived there."

Ranko shivered slightly in anticipation; she hadn't had a proper bath since moving to New York. Her eyes found Tish's, and a smile spread over her own face.

* * *

><p>"Tish?" inquired Ranko softly. There was no response.<p>

She watched her bathing companion in silence. Tish's head had lolled back against the side of the tub; her eyes were closed, and her mouth was slightly open. She must have been dead tired and crashed while Ranko was rinsing off in the shower. Ranko decided to let her friend sleep for a few minutes and settled herself a little lower in the tub, the hot water lapping at her chin and her thoughts drifting back over the evening.

She'd managed a solid couple of hours of practice on her Vivaldi, sitting in front of the crackling fire in the living room while Tish read a book. In the meantime, Dr. Williams and his son had made pasta for dinner. It had been very good; Tish had told her that Thomas was the best cook in the family, despite his protestations that he and his father were "Iron Chef Frozen Pizza" and "Iron Chef Canned Spaghetti."

She and Tish had offered to help, but her host had been adamant that the two women should relax after traveling all day; Ranko had chosen to practice as her form of relaxation. In return, they'd volunteered to prepare Thanksgiving dinner the next day. Ranko was looking forward to learning more about traditional American cuisine.

After dinner she'd played her violin a little more, holding the Williams family in thrall with some Paganini caprices and her Bach E major partita—which was still one of her favorite pieces. She and Tish had then gone up to Tish's room, which hadn't been part of the quick tour earlier.

Once inside, Ranko had felt like she'd stepped through some kind of teleportation device. Other than the furniture and the house itself, practically everything could have been found in the room of any young Japanese woman. The bookshelves were filled with manga and Japanese novels, plus a few videos; there were stuffed animals, including an enormous Totoro; there were slightly yellowing posters on the walls from the Japan of ten years ago: exhibitions, events, an idol singer Ranko had never heard of. When Ranko had spotted a familiar-looking storage case in a corner, Tish had pulled out her collection of _hina matsuri _dolls, a complete set of the emperor and his court. When Tish had asked whether she had a set, Ranko had made a noncommittal reply; needless to say, Ranma had never celebrated Girl's Day. One more lost experience in the girlhood she'd never had.

After Ranko had asked if she had any pictures from her time in Japan, Tish had gotten out her photo album, which had been filled with a long parade of images. Tish at age 5, adorable, the lone black face in a sea of blue smocks and yellow hats. Tish at age 7 with the very same set of dolls she had just seen. Tish at age 8, a skinny full head taller than her two Japanese girlfriends, all three of them dressed in kimonos for a New Year's shrine visit. Tish with the same two girls, all wearing their standard-issue school backpacks, all flashing peace signs. Tish and friends roller-blading, shopping in Shibuya, in kimonos at a festival. Tish with her classmates at age 12, wearing a junior high school uniform. Ranko had looked for the two friends in that photo but couldn't find them.

There were pages and pages of photographs that could have been found in the scrapbook of any Japanese girl, with the occasional interlopers: Tish gently cradling her baby brother; Dr. Williams in an Air Force uniform, looking very impressive; a woman Ranko knew instantly must be Tish's mother—she had that same hungry intelligence in her eyes. She couldn't help noticing that in the family photos near the end of the album, Tish and her mother never stood next to one another.

Ranko's curiosity had been fanned to a bright flame by all of this. She had peppered Tish with questions about her life in Japan: her friends, her school, what life had been like for her and her family. Japan was so insular a country in some ways that Ranko was intensely curious about what the society looked like to an outsider like Tish who had been so immersed in it.

Tish had answered the questions, but had grown increasingly distracted; her mind seemed more and more to be elsewhere. Ranko had watched as her body language grew tense, and had decided to back off. Clearly, there were still things that Tish didn't want to talk about. She'd suggested a nice relaxing bath, and Tish had agreed, her relief obvious.

And so Ranko sat in the tub, watching her sleeping friend, pondering what it could be that still had Tish so upset nine years after the fact. She mulled over her own secret—at least, the one she planned to confess to Tish on this trip. She wondered whether doing so would bring them closer together or push them farther apart; whether it would lead Tish to make her own confessions and, if so, whether that would help or hurt her friend.

She'd thought about telling Tish here in the bath—it was relaxing and private, and they were guaranteed not to be interrupted by the men—but didn't want to spring the Cat Fist on her the very first night. Thomas was going to visit a friend on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, and that seemed like a better bet. The issue had been rendered moot by Tish's early loss of consciousness.

As she watched, Tish's eyes popped halfway open, and seemed to focus. She looked around, and smiled sheepishly. "_Sorry. Did I zone out?_"

Ranko smiled. "_Yes, you looked tired so I let you nap a little._" She paused a moment. "_I thought you wanted to speak English on this trip?_"

"_Huh? But…_" replied Tish, still sleepy. "Oh. Right."

As Ranko watched, the eyelids started to flutter again. She smiled. "Maybe I should help you to go to bed."

Tish nodded slowly. "_Sounds good to me._" Ranko raised an eyebrow.

She climbed out of the tub, shivering, and hurried to fetch two towels. She helped Tish out of the bath and handed her one of them.

As they toweled off, Tish seemed to wake up more completely. "Sorry about that." She yawned. "I feel like an old lady tonight."

Ranko giggled at the image. "It's from sitting on the train all day, I think. I'm tired, too." Tish nodded, and they both put on their pajamas and bathrobes. Ranko followed Tish out the door and down the hall.

Dr. Williams popped his head out of his room as they passed. "Bath free?" She nodded, and he grinned. "Think I'll go have a quick soak." He headed the other way as she smiled.

They paused at the door to Tish's room. "Thank you for inviting me to your home, Tish."

Tish yawned again. "_You're welcome. S'fun to have you here. G'night._"

Ranko suppressed a giggle. "_Good night._" Tish went inside, and Ranko went to her own room. She considered writing an e-mail to Akane, but decided to wait until the morning. Besides, she'd neglected to ask one of her hosts how to use their Internet connection. Tish had told her they had one, but she had no idea how to set up her computer.

Instead, she turned the heater down, turned off the lights, and slipped under the big down comforter. She took a moment to luxuriate, wiggling her toes and pulling the comforter to her chin; she'd never slept in a bed this cozy.

Sleep came quickly.

* * *

><p>Ranko stumbled down the stairs in the pre-dawn light, wearing her sweats, and trying not to wake the rest of the family. She didn't have anyplace to work out, but she could at least do some yoga, and for that she needed the floor space in the living room. She was still a little groggy, though she'd slept well. Well, except for the dream where she'd been Anne Saotome of Green Gables—with a Jusenkyou curse. The Cuthberts hadn't minded so much that she was a girl since she could be a boy, too.<p>

She paused at the bottom of the stairs; the kitchen light was on. Someone must have left it on overnight, and she went to turn it off before starting her exercises. She was astonished to find Dr. Williams in his bathrobe and pajamas, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. She blinked and ventured, "Good morning."

He looked up and smiled. "Good morning. You're certainly up early."

Ranko smiled. "I exercise every morning. You're up early as well."

Dr. Williams grinned. "It's the Air Force; it got me in the habit. What kind of exercise?"

"Well, normally martial arts, but there is no room so I'll do some yoga instead. May I use the living room?" She winked. "I promise I won't break anything."

He waved his coffee mug in consent. "Yes, of course. Come join me when you're done." He paused a moment. "There's a health club nearby where I have a membership; I play tennis there. They're closed today for the holiday, but I can get you in as a guest starting tomorrow if you like. They have a gym where you should have more room to move around."

Ranko smiled a sunny smile. "Thank you so much, Dr. Williams! That would be very nice." She inclined her head, then left, and Dr. Williams went back to his newspaper.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he heard a gasp from the entryway—a gasp which sounded like Thomas. He set down his coffee and newspaper and rushed out to see what had happened. When he got to the entryway, he stopped abruptly.

Ranko was in the living room, balanced upside down on one hand, her back arched and her legs in the air in a wide split. Her free arm was held out horizontally, and her head raised; she had a look of intense concentration on her face. That in itself was remarkable, but what was even more remarkable was that she had a very heavy book balanced on each foot, in her free hand, and on top of her head.

She noticed them and looked up, the book on her head not even wiggling. "Oh. Good morning, Thomas! Hi, Dr. Williams!"

Thomas and his father looked at each other, blinked, and turned back to Ranko. "Good morning," croaked Thomas.

"Please wait a moment," said Ranko, "I'm done with this exercise." She sprang off the floor and flipped; the books flew through the air. Dr. Williams cringed…

…until Ranko landed upright on her feet and held out her arms; the books landed in a neat stack in her outstretched hands. "I hope you don't mind that I used your books. I was extra-careful."

Dr. Williams reply, if he had any, was cut off by Thomas. "No way. No… fuckin'… way."

"Thomas!" chided his father, Ranko's gymnastics momentarily forgotten.

"Sorry." The boy cleared his throat. "Merciful Heavens!" He clapped his hands to the sides of his face.

Dr. Williams gave him a less than approving look, then turned to Ranko. "Is that part of your normal workout?"

Ranko shook her head as she moved about the room, putting the books back in their places. "Oh, no. My usual workout is much harder. But this exercise is good for balance and muscle tone if you can't move around like I usually do."

"Wait a minute," said Thomas. "That was slacking off? That was taking it easy?" He swallowed. "That was _real_?"

Ranko blinked. "Umm… yes?"

Dr. Williams had regained his aplomb somewhat. "Tish told me about your skills, but seeing them in action is different from hearing about them." He paused a moment. "Are you done yet?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, just about. I've done all the yoga positions I know, plus some exercises I worked out with my sister, the martial arts instructor. That was one of them." She smiled. "I'll do my regular workout at your club tomorrow morning."

Thomas and his father exchanged glances. _Tomorrow morning, bright and early._

Dr. Williams hesitated. "Tish says you can use your ki…" He had a very hopeful look on his face.

Ranko giggled; Dr. Williams looked like a little boy. "Would you like a demonstration?" He grinned sheepishly and nodded.

"Ki?" asked Thomas. "What's 'ki'?"

"This," said Ranko. She held out her hand, palm up, and concentrated for a moment. A small light flickered into existence, hovering a half an inch or so above her outstretched palm. "It's a person's life energy. If you train long enough, you can learn to control it and use it." She blushed. "I don't know a lot of ki moves, actually. Once I met… umm, someone who did." Her eyes took on a faraway look, and her mind was in another world—literally. "He was much better than me, but he didn't have time to teach me anything before I had to come home. My sister and I have tried to figure out some of the techniques I saw him use, but we haven't, yet."

Dr. Williams was staring intently at the little spark in Ranko's palm. "That's your life energy? Does it hurt you to use it like that?"

She shook her head. "At this level, no. I could do this for an hour. If I use it to fight, though, I can only do that for a few minutes."

She concentrated again, and the light in her palm flared, and elongated swiftly into a staff. "Like this." Both the Williamses were silent, their faces illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of Ranko's ki staff.

Mindful of the breakables in close proximity, Ranko carefully spun the staff a few times, then planted it upright on the floor in front of her. She ceased her flow of ki, and the staff flickered and disappeared with a soft _pop_. She blew out her breath and wiped her brow. "You can't use a technique like that too much, as it will make you tired. But it's very useful sometimes."

"…freakin' awesome…" whispered Thomas.

Ranko rubbed the back of her head, a little embarrassed. "Maybe I should go start my shower. I usually wash my hair after I work out in the morning."

Dr. Williams switched gears smoothly, from awestruck little boy to gracious host. "Of course, please go ahead. We'll have breakfast when you get back."

Ranko nodded and headed up the stairs, Thomas' eyes following her the whole way. She passed Tish, on her way down, and they exchanged greetings.

Tish walked up to her father and brother. "What's going on? Why's everyone standing around?"

Dr. Williams grinned. "Ranko was just giving us a little demonstration of her martial arts skills." Tish grinned herself.

Thomas was still staring up the stairs. "Y'know, I don't get it."

Tish blinked. "Get what?"

Thomas shook his head and folded his arms. "Why did she switch from martial arts to the violin?"

Dr. Williams smiled. "Maybe you should ask her yourself."

Thomas shook his head again. "No, I mean how can she walk away from that? She's so awesome!"

Tish frowned. "She's pretty awesome at the violin, too. You heard her last night."

"Yeah, she plays the violin pretty well, but I've never seen _anyone _do the kind of things she can do with martial arts. She's like a real-life superhero! I just don't get it."

Tish smiled. "Superhero was the word that came to my mind, too, when I saw her catch that mugger." She tilted her head and thought for a while. "But you know… I've lived with her for three months, and… somehow… being a violinist, sharing her love of music… it fits her personality, who she is." She frowned slightly. "Now that you mention it, it's the martial arts that seem odd. I know she enjoys keeping up with it, but it's hard to imagine her being interested enough to go through all the training she did." She shook her head. "I wonder how her father got her to do it?"

* * *

><p>Ranko smiled as she set the turkey down on the dining room table. "Well, it's kind of late, but we made it." Tish set down the covered casserole of stuffing, and they took their seats; that was the last of it. The table was set with white linen and fine china, and covered with wonderful things to eat. They'd nearly wound up having leftover eggplant lasagna for Thanksgiving dinner, because early on she and Tish had discovered that while Thomas had carefully ordered a large, fresh turkey for them, what they had received was in fact a largely frozen turkey, thanks to the market storing it incorrectly. This had led to a somewhat panicky strategy conference involving Thomas, Tish, and Ranko, and they'd decided to go ahead and try to defrost it. That had taken a good couple of hours, with lots of cold water and numb, stinging fingers. They'd had to cook it longer, too.<p>

As a result, they were sitting down to dinner at 8 PM instead of the 5 PM they'd been shooting for. At least it wasn't leftovers.

Ranko had boggled at the size of the bird. The largest thing she'd ever worked with in Kasumi's kitchen was a chicken; turkeys were not a staple in Japan. In fact, the only dish that wasn't strange to her was the steamed broccoli. Still, she'd had a lot fun of learning to cook all these new recipes, and as she ran her eyes over the unfamiliar but colorful dishes, her mouth started to water.

Dr. Williams and Thomas looked quite appreciative as well. "This looks wonderful, ladies. Thank you very much for putting it all together."

Tish and Ranko smiled at each other. "We thought you guys deserved a break from the kitchen. I did miss cooking with Thomas, but Ranko and I had a blast. She's a pretty mean cook, as well as being a professional musician and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound." Thomas laughed.

Ranko frowned. "I don't think I ever leapt over a building… Onto the roof, maybe…"

Tish shook her head. "Never mind." She laughed. "I've never seen anyone chop vegetables and sort cranberries that fast, though."

Ranko blushed. "I hope it didn't bother you too much. My sister Kasumi helped teach me to cook, but she gets kind of nervous when I do that."

"Well, I did think you were starting a food fight at first, but I didn't mind." They all laughed.

Dr. Williams cleared his throat. "Shall we?" He bowed his head a moment, as did Thomas; Ranko followed suit out of respect, and whispered "_Itadakimasu_" under her breath. Tish seemed to be murmuring something as well, though she couldn't make it out.

Dr. Williams stood and started to carve. Ranko rose partway from her chair. "Dr. Williams, would you like me to do that?"

He laughed. "No, thank you. I'm sure you could do it in the blink of an eye, but I like to do this part myself, since I'm not much use in the kitchen otherwise." He winked. "Besides, I did go to medical school."

Tish and Ranko turned slightly green. "_Daddy! _Now I see where Thomas gets it."

Dr. Williams' eyes twinkled. "Sorry."

In short order Tish's father had produced a platter of sliced turkey. They all started to serve themselves, passing the various dishes around. Ranko felt compelled to try everything, and her plate was fairly heaped when she was done: turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, broccoli, and more. Though she was ravenous, she started to eat politely, pacing herself.

"It's great!" enthused Thomas; his father chimed in as well. Ranko had to agree; it was simple food, but very satisfying. Maybe she'd try making this for her family some time after she went home, just for fun. She wondered if it was possible to get a turkey in Nerima, and whether it would fit in a Japanese oven.

Everyone mostly focused on eating for a while, but eventually the conversation started to flow in between bites. "How did your chess games go this afternoon, Dr. Williams?"

Dr. Williams laughed. "Thomas creamed me, as usual."

Ranko frowned. "'Creamed'?"

Tish smiled. "Thoroughly defeated, routed, humiliated, embarrassed…"

Dr. Williams cleared his throat. "Thank you, Tish, that will do."

Ranko grinned. "Do you play chess a lot, Thomas?"

Thomas studied his broccoli intently. "Yeah, I guess."

"Thomas is president of the chess club at school," offered Dr. Williams, beaming.

"Dad!" exclaimed Thomas.

"Oh, you must play very well, then," said Ranko.

"Great. There goes my reputation as a regular dude," grumbled Thomas. "Yeah, I like to play. I especially like to watch my opponents twist in the wind." He sent a feral grin his father's way. "Do you play chess, Ms. Saotome?"

"Please, call me Ranko." She smiled sheepishly and shook her head. "No, I am not very good at chess or shogi. I really am bad at strategy; I've always been a tactical fighter. I… what's that word?… improvise a lot, but don't think far ahead. That's OK for martial arts but not for chess."

Thomas' eyes shone. "Could you tell us more about your martial arts? Have you really been training since you were a little girl?"

Ranko's eyes tightened momentarily. "Yes, since I was about five years old. I trained in my family's school, which is called… uhh…" she sighed, "Tish, how do you say '_musabetsu kakutou ryuu_' in English?"

Tish blinked. "Hmm… I'm not sure. Umm… 'no distinctions fighting style'?"

Thomas laughed. "'Anything goes'?"

Ranko tilted her head. "Yes, that's about right. My family's school is to take advantage of everything, instead of stick to one style. Anyway, my father took me all over Japan and China, where I learned lots of styles. We stayed at many different dojos." _And usually left in the middle of the night…_

"It must have been hard on you, being away from your mother," sympathized Dr. Williams.

Ranko paused for a long moment; she wasn't sure any words were adequate as a response. "Yes, I missed her alot. When I met her again I didn't even know I had a mother, or what she looked like."

Dr. Williams frowned. "Didn't your father tell you about her? Show you pictures?"

Ranko stopped eating as a familiar twinge pulled at her heart. "Actually… my father ran away without telling her, and took me with him. He didn't tell me about her at all as I got older." Her eyes unfocused slightly. "I met her again completely as an accident. I didn't recognize her, but luckily she recognized me."

There was a short, melancholy silence. "Ranko, I'm sorry," apologized Dr. Williams. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

"No, no, that's OK," she assured him, waving a hand. "Really." She reached to serve herself more stuffing.

"So why'd your dad run away with you?" asked Thomas, momentarily distracted from martial arts.

"Thomas," chided Dr. Williams, "that's not an appropriate question." He turned to Ranko. "Please don't feel that you have to answer that."

Ranko released the breath she'd been holding, and finished serving herself. "I would be happier not to discuss that. Thank you."

Thomas, thwarted, returned to the original topic. "No wonder you're such a martial arts whiz, if you've been training for so long. Can you tell us about some of the things you did?"

Ranko, relieved to no longer have to evade things she really didn't want to talk about, obliged them by recounting tales from her time on the road with her father. It seemed a lifetime ago, but as her mind drifted back over that time she grew more animated in the retelling. Of course, she left out a lot, like the Cat Fist, and her father's habit of evading his debts. Dr. Williams was a gracious and relaxing host, the food was delicious, and she grew garrulous. She talked all through dinner, pausing frequently to enjoy the feast.

Tish and her father were fascinated, but Thomas was simply spellbound. He hung on her every word, eagerly asking questions for clarification. Ranko enjoyed the experience; for the first time in years she was able to think back over her time as a homeless wanderer in a positive way. It had been terribly hard, but there had been some bright spots along the way.

After a half hour or so, she reached their visit to Jusenkyou and Joketsuzoku, only mentioning the former as a dangerous training ground where one could fall into a pool and—err—drown. "After that we came home to Japan. My father didn't want to see my mother again, so we stayed with the Tendou family." She smiled. "After a few months, my mother found me by accident, and that was the end of my training trip."

"She must have been furious with your dad," remarked Tish, poking at her last little bit of cranberry sauce.

"She sure was," laughed Ranko. "It took a year until they could talk to each other without looking angry." She sighed. "I don't think they'll be in love again, but at least they're friends again." That had taken years.

"Anyway, my mother helped me be a… a more normal girl again. I started to make more friends, I settled down and became interested in school, and I fell in love with the violin and my fiancé at about the same time." She smiled happily.

Thomas sat back from his empty plate and waggled his finger. "I've been meaning to ask you this. You have got to be the greatest martial artist I've ever seen. You spent twelve years training nonstop… and then you walked away from it. I don't understand—why?"

Ranko was blushing from the compliments. She thought for a while before responding. "I know what you're saying." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Part of the reason I worked so hard on martial arts was… was so I would please my father. He's very obsessed about martial arts, and when I was good at it, he praised me. Martial arts was the most important thing in the world for him, and so it was the most important thing for me, too. Nothing else mattered." She paused a moment, her eyes far away.

She blinked and shook her head. "But once I was with my mother, and my sisters and friends… they didn't care only about martial arts. They cared about all kind of things. For the first time I thought about what _I _liked… what _I _cared about. I decided that I liked martial arts very much, but not like my father does. It wasn't what I want to spend my life doing." She smiled again. "When I found the violin, I knew that was the thing I _did _want to spend my life doing." Thomas was nodding slowly. "I like martial arts very much… but I _love _the violin. I could never give it up."

Thomas smiled. "I guess… yeah, I understand." He laughed. "Well, at least you have something to fall back on if the violin doesn't pay well. You could always moonlight in Hong Kong action films—you're a walking Jackie Chan flick all by yourself." They all shared a chuckle, though Ranko had no idea what moonlight had to do with anything.

"Y'know," Thomas said diffidently, a slight frown on his face, "this is gonna sound rude, but… your dad sounds more like he was a drill instructor than a father."

"Exactly right, Thomas," chided Tish. "That _was _rude."

Ranko laughed. "Actually, I've sometimes thought the same thing myself." She smiled, bemused. "It seems like everything was martial arts. My father was completely focused to training me."

"Didn't you do anything else together as parent and child?" asked Dr. Williams, genuinely surprised.

Ranko squinted as she cast her mind back. "Well… no. Not really. The closest was when he would take me to a public bath." She smiled. "When we did that, he couldn't really surprise me with some training drill, so I could relax."

Tish smiled sadly. "That's not really even 'together,' though, is it?"

Ranko blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry… I don't understand." She'd spent plenty of time with her father at the bath. It was about the only quiet time they'd ever had together, when he'd actually talk about something other than martial arts.

Tish blinked herself. "I mean, your father was on the men's side, and you were on the women's side, right? You couldn't even talk to each other."

"Oh… uh, yes, that's true, I guess." Ranko paled; she felt a buzzing in her ears, and the pleasant, relaxed feeling she'd been enjoying evaporated, replaced by a queasy anxiety. She'd been so at ease she'd nearly given things away. She shivered slightly, and her body language closed up like a pillbug poked by a stick.

"It sounds like…" started Thomas.

"Thomas, I think we've interrogated our guest enough," interrupted Dr. Williams smoothly. "We should give her a break." He turned to his daughter. "Tish, I'd love to hear about the play you're working on." Tish seemed briefly taken by surprise, but started talking about her current production, and soon waxed enthusiastic.

Ranko barely heard what her roommate was saying for the next few minutes; her mind was busy chasing its own tail. She'd talked about her past before, with people who didn't know about Ranma, but she'd never come this close to blowing it. The Williamses had made it so easy to talk, and she hadn't even recognized the danger in what she was saying. If Tish hadn't unwittingly rescued her, she could have easily painted herself into a corner.

On top of that, she knew Dr. Williams hadn't changed the subject by accident. He had to have noticed her discomfort. From her prior experience with therapists she was pretty sure he wouldn't pry, but she wondered what his children would make of all this.

No one was likely to guess her zig-zag gender history from this one incident, but Ranko had a sinking feeling that it was only a matter of time. Back home, even though most of her friends knew about Ranma because of high school, she had friends like Noriko who didn't.

Noriko, however, was not nearly so acute an observer as the Williamses. And Noriko did not get to hear Ranko talk in her sleep.

* * *

><p>End Chapter 5<p>

Thursday, December 22, 2005

**Copyright Notice **

The characters and stories of Ranma ½ are Copyright © Rumiko Takahashi, and are used here without permission or license.

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.

This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.

This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Ranma ½ characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Ranma ½ as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

All original characters and story elements expressed herein are Copyright © 2002-2005 by the author.


	6. Chapter 6: Secrets

Notes from Juilliard

By ClassicalGal

Chapter 6

* * *

><p>Ranko cradled her violin and bow in her lap, staring into the fire. The flames crackled and leapt, licking along the logs and up the flue. She sat on the sofa and watched them dance, fidgeting with her instrument all the while. Occasionally her eyes would stray to the old-fashioned anniversary clock on the mantle, and glumly note that another five minutes had passed.<p>

"I thought you wanted to practice," remarked Tish, looking up from her cozy position in the armchair, her thumb marking her place in her book.

Ranko looked up and smiled. "Uh… I will soon." Tish nodded and returned to her reading; Ranko sighed imperceptibly.

She and Tish were alone in the house; Thomas was at his friend's house, and Dr. Williams was off on an errand. They'd both left after breakfast, after accompanying her to Dr. Williams' health club and back.

While at the club, Ranko had used the gym to run through her morning workout. She'd started unnoticed in one corner, but by the time she had finished her aerial combat practice, it had seemed like half the members had stopped to watch her, their heads moving in unison to track her as she caromed about. Dr. Williams had skipped his usual tennis game to watch, as had the friends he usually played with. Thomas had been like a statue the whole time, his attention unwavering.

When she was done, she'd gotten an enthusiastic round of applause and cheers, and had smiled, even as she reflected on the problems she had getting a similar response for her violin playing.

Thomas had gushed the whole way home, peppering her with questions about the moves she'd used, eager to understand everything he'd seen. He seemed to be developing at least a mild case of hero-worship, which Ranko found simultaneously cute and slightly disconcerting. He'd seemed a little reluctant to go when he'd left for his friend's house.

His father had left a short while later to go to the hardware store, giving Ranko the opportunity she'd been waiting for. An opportunity she looked forward to with about as much enthusiasm as for a root canal.

She stopped fiddling with her violin and bow and put them on the coffee table. _Stop stalling, Saotome_. "Tish?"

Her friend noticed her tone of voice and sat up. "Yes?"

Ranko took a deep breath and gathered her courage. "You know my problem with… with…" she shivered despite the warmth of the fire, "c-c-cats?"

Tish sat up a little straighter. "Uh-huh?"

"I… I want to tell you about it. I want you to know what happened. I wanted to wait till we were alone."

Tish nodded; Ranko had her full attention. "OK… if you feel comfortable telling me."

Ranko nodded, and sighed. "It was a martial arts training accident."

Both Tish's eyebrows shot up. "A _training accident_?"

Ranko nodded. "Yes. My father found a book about a very powerful martial arts technique, called the C-c-cat Fist—in Japanese, _ne-nekoken_. The book said that anyone who learned this technique would be unbeatable. My father wanted me to be a great martial artist, so he decided to teach this to me. Most unfortunately, he didn't read the next page, where the book said that anyone who learns this technique will go insane."

Tish's eyes were wide. "Insane?"

Ranko shifted uncomfortably, anxious about Tish's reaction. "Yes."

"But… you're not…"

Ranko smiled a wan smile. "Not usually, no. But if my fear of c-cats gets too strong, I… I…" She paused; she felt the fear lurking inside of her, the nameless, howling fear which at its peak could brutally shove aside her humanity. "I start acting like a… a… like one of them. That's what the training does."

"What kind of training could…?"

Ranko shuddered. "You don't want to know, and I don't want to talk about it."

Tish nodded slowly, Ranko's sleep talk echoing in her head: "_No… No… the cats… Daddy, the cats… make them go away!" _She shuddered herself.

There was a moderate silence. "Tish… I wanted you to know this, so that if this happens to me while I'm in America, you will know what to do. It doesn't happen very much now, just once every year or two."

Tish blinked. "There's something I can do?"

Ranko nodded. "Someone I trust can help me out of it. When it first happened, there was a neighborhood woman who could do it. Now my mother can do it, or my sisters, or my fiancé Ryouga." She smiled. "I think maybe you can do it, but if it doesn't work you can telephone my home for help. I'll give you the number."

"What do I do?" whispered Tish.

"Just call me, like you would call a c-c-cat, and pet me or scratch my ears. If I feel I'm safe and I relax enough, I fall asleep and come out of it when I wake up." She hesitated. "If I feel threatened, I will attack those who threaten me."

Tish was shaking her head slowly. "This is impossible." She paused; somehow, the word "impossible" seemed to lose its meaning where her roommate was concerned. "You're… you're just pulling my leg, right?"

Ranko blinked. "Why would I pull on your leg?"

"It means, 'You're joking.'"

Ranko shook her head emphatically. "No. I wish I was." She sighed, a long, drawn-out sigh. "I loved c-cats when I was a little girl, but now I can't go near them. No, this is not a joke."

Tish watched her roommate bow her head, her eyes closed, and suddenly remembered what she'd seen in Ranko's eyes at the Halloween party. There had been… _something _else there, something inhuman. She shuddered again, and felt her stomach drop into a bottomless pit. _Oh… my… __**God**_…

Both women avoided eye contact for a couple of minutes; Tish twirled a lock of hair around her finger repeatedly, a nervous tic. Finally, she asked hesitantly, "Ranko? Maybe… maybe my father could…"

Ranko smiled sadly and shook her head. "When my mother learned about this training, she took me to many psychiatrists. None of them could do anything, and finally one said that trying to cure it could make it worse." She laughed, a short, humorless snort. "He said I was lucky."

Tish nodded slowly. "Still… maybe… Daddy is very good at what he does." She smiled weakly. "That's why we can afford this house."

Ranko thought for a moment, and shrugged slightly. "All… all right."

There was another silence. Tish gradually noticed how tense her roommate was, scrunched up in a little ball, her shoulders rigid. _She's afraid I'll… _She went over to sit next to the other woman and took her hand. "Ranko… I'm… I'm so sorry this happened to you. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this, enough so that you think I could help if it happened." She gave Ranko's hand a squeeze.

Ranko swallowed hard. "Tish… do you… are you still…"

Tish's heart wrenched. She reached over and gave the petite redhead a hug. "Of course, silly. I would never, ever abandon a friend for something like this." _Even though it scares the shit out of me._

Ranko let out the breath she'd been holding. "Thanks," she choked out, and hugged Tish back, tears running down her cheeks. An image of a boy with black hair in a pigtail flashed through her mind, and she let out a small sob, her tears flowing more freely.

* * *

><p>Dr. Williams opened the door to his study. "Tish?"<p>

Tish wrenched her attention back to the here and now, and looked up from the seat she'd taken on the hallway floor; it left something to be desired as a waiting area. "Yes, Daddy?"

"Come on in. We're done." Ranko came to the doorway, and she and Dr. Williams smiled at each other; something unspoken passed between them.

She passed Tish in the hallway on her way out. "It's your turn." She winked, and Tish laughed.

Tish entered the study and sat down; Dr. Williams closed the door behind them. "Well, I sure wasn't expecting to be working today." He frowned at this daughter. "You're sure you didn't coerce her…?"

"Absolutely, Daddy. I only suggested she talk to you."

He slowly settled into the chair behind his desk, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Even so, you put me on the spot. You know if I speak to a patient professionally I have to be very careful about whether I'm starting a therapeutic relationship or not."

Tish wilted slightly. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I just thought maybe you could help her." She leaned forward in her chair. "Can you?"

Dr. Williams shook his head. "Tish, you also know I can't discuss conversations I have with a patient. I can't even influence a patient to give me permission to do so." Tish sagged, and her father laughed. "Luckily for you, Ranko said I could tell you everything she told me." He squinted at his daughter. "No, I can't help her, mostly because she doesn't really need help."

Tish blinked. "What?"

"She has this problem under control—at least, as controlled as it's going to get. However, I think _you _need to talk about how it's scaring you."

Tish swallowed. "Is it that obvious?"

He smiled, his eyes crinkling. "To your father it is."

Tish felt her cheeks grow warm. "Do you understand what happened to her?"

"Yes, I think I've puzzled it out, based on what she remembers of what her psychiatrists told her." Dr. Williams sat back in his chair, sighed, and pulled his glasses off to polish them using a small cloth. "To be blunt, honey, she was tortured, by her own father." Tish gave a little gasp. "Tortured in a way specifically designed to induce a very particular kind of extreme psychosis, though her father didn't know that." His expression darkened. "Whoever came up with this so-called 'training' must have been a very evil man. Her father, on the other hand, is merely an idiot."

"So… why isn't she…?"

Dr. Williams put his glasses back on. "Why isn't she a cat all the time?" Tish nodded. "The last psychiatrist she saw—the one who told her to stop trying to find a cure—figured it out. She managed to preserve her sanity by developing a dissociative identity disorder as a form of protection. It's not at all uncommon with this kind of extreme trauma." He steepled his fingers in front of his nose. "Rather than succumbing to the psychosis, she walled it off in a personality of its own. Her main personality survived intact, except for her fear of cats. When that overwhelms her, her main personality withdraws from the external world, and the psychotic personality takes over. When the threat fades, the main personality comes back, as it's normally the stronger one by far." He shook his head. "She's an exceptionally resilient young lady."

Tish's head swam. "Why can't she be cured?" she whispered.

"Because to treat a dissociative identity disorder, you need to help the personalities to merge. Occasionally, that's dangerous, and in this case it could be disastrous. That's why her psychiatrist told her to stop trying. He was right, she's very lucky." He sighed. "Tish, sometimes when someone is shot and the bullet lodges somewhere delicate, it's better to just let it sit there and form scar tissue, rather than try to get it out. That's essentially what's happened here."

He thought for a few moments. "It's possible her trigger threshold could be raised through conditioning, but without understanding this 'training' thoroughly, attempting even that could be dangerous. It's not really necessary, anyway; she told me it takes several cats at once to trigger an episode. She has to be a lot more frightened than she was at that party."

He leaned forward. "It's hard to believe, given what's happened to her, but her dominant personality is very healthy as far as I can tell. She has no functional impairments that I could detect, except the ailurophobia. You were right, she has her head screwed on straight. She's just got a little problem." _And unless I'm greatly mistaken, a few more secrets yet to tell you…_

"'A little problem'? Daddy, how can she live with this?"

He sat back and thought for a moment. "I had a patient back in Japan, a serviceman. He sometimes spaced out on duty, and so he was sent to me. It turned out what he really had was epilepsy, and I had to refer him to a neurologist. Every once in a great while, he had a _grand mal _seizure. It couldn't be controlled with drugs, but it didn't happen often enough to warrant brain surgery." He shrugged. "He lived with it, and did OK. We just made sure the people around him knew what to do if it happened. Ranko's better off than he was, because she knows what her trigger is, and can usually avoid it."

"But… if she's psychotic when it happens…"

"Psychotic doesn't necessarily mean 'homicidal,' honey. She told me she's never hurt anyone when she had an episode unless they threatened her." He smiled. "Apparently she's a very friendly kitty."

Tish sat back in her chair, slightly overwhelmed. "I guess when you look at it that way… it's not so scary."

Dr. Williams smiled. "You see?"

Tish nodded, relaxing further. "I guess… I guess there isn't anything to worry about, really, as long as she feels safe when it happens." She looked up and smiled. "But I'll bet this is the weirdest case you've ever heard of."

Dr. Williams shook his head, his expression serious. "Well, the cat psychosis was a new one on me, but… no. Not even close, honey. I've treated my share of DID patients; very few of them were anywhere near as healthy as Ranko. Many of them were abused in far more horrible ways." He paused for a moment, his face grim.

He smiled faintly, a smile with no real joy in it. "You'll have to come up with something better if you want me to think she's weird."

Tish closed her eyes momentarily. _I don't ever want to be a psychiatrist_.

"And Tish?"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"You should feel flattered she trusts you enough to share this with you." He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

Tish knew what her father was getting at, and flushed. "I'm thinking about it, Daddy."

* * *

><p>"Hmmm." Tish rotated her map and looked around.<p>

Ranko raised an eyebrow. "I thought you know this area, since you live here."

Tish grinned sheepishly. "I've only been to the North End a few times. It's been several years, too." She peered at her map again, then pointed. "That way."

Ranko and Tish started walking, leaving the bustle of Faneuil Hall behind. They were nearing the end of an afternoon of exploration: they would be meeting Thomas and Dr. Williams at a North End restaurant in about an hour, for dinner.

They'd been meandering through Boston on foot, trying to catch the historic sights on their tourist map. So far they'd only managed to find one or two. Ranko had been surprised; Tish had had to consult a tourist book to explain the significance of each place they'd stopped. She had to admit, though, she'd probably have to do the same if she had to give someone a tour of Tokyo. History had never been a strong point for her; she'd missed too much school while on the road with her father.

They'd paused briefly at Faneuil Hall to browse the shops, but the prices had quickly dissuaded them from actually buying anything. Better to stalk the bargain centers of greater New York with Eimi-sensei than to pay tourist prices. Still, it was fun to look.

Tish glanced sideways at her companion as they walked towards the North End. Ranko seemed to be holding up fine, but Tish was exhausted, and her feet ached something fierce; she was glad they didn't have much more walking to do. She was not a martial artist with a superbly-conditioned body. At least the exercise was keeping them warm on this cold November day.

Things had been a little awkward at first, after Ranko's revelation of that morning. After all, having your roommate tell you she could become psychotic on occasion did not exactly inspire conviviality. Still, as they'd wandered the city together, Tish had slowly come to realize that Ranko was still the same person, someone that she, Tish, liked very much and had grown to respect. The idea that she sometimes acted like a cat had receded from a potential threat to a hypothetical curiosity. Tish's uneasiness had evolved into heartfelt sympathy.

As Tish's ease had grown more apparent, she had seen Ranko relax, and regain her usual enthusiastic demeanor. It was simply impossible for Tish to dislike such a cheery soul. As the tension diminished, Tish's thoughts had turned from Ranko's "cat problem" to her own secrets… and whether to reciprocate in sharing them. She'd become so lost in thought that Ranko, anxious, had asked if something was wrong. Tish had smiled and shook her head, setting her ruminations aside, and Ranko had smiled back. After that things had warmed up rapidly, and the rest of the afternoon had passed with easy camaraderie.

After a few minutes of walking, they came to a wide gap in the buildings, which seemed to have suffered some kind of devastation. "What's going on here?" asked Ranko, as they waited for a pedestrian signal.

Tish waved at the whole scene. "There used to be a big elevated highway here, and there was a huge project to put it underground. It's been going on for years and years, and they've just finishing tearing the old highway down." The light changed, and they started to cross, passing through what looked like a muddy, debris-strewn war zone. Ranko looked up and down the wide canyon through downtown Boston; it did seem like there must have been something occupying it before.

The torn-up area quickly gave way to narrow streets from centuries past; Tish brought out her map again to navigate the maze. After a couple of minutes they stumbled upon another landmark, a colonial-era home with clapboard siding. A modest gaggle of tourists—mostly older people—milled about in front of it, chatting about this or that aspect of the building. Ranko leaned forward to read the bronze plaque. "Paul Revere House." She blinked. "Who is Paul Revere?"

Tish furrowed her brow in thought. "I… the name sounds vaguely familiar, but…" She shook her head ruefully. "I don't know. Just a second, I'll look on the map…" They both peered at it.

"You're joking… aren't you?"

Tish and Ranko looked up from the map. A rather plump, elderly woman was regarding them with a perplexed look; next to her stood a balding man with wire-rimmed glasses who had to be her husband. He looked like he'd much rather be somewhere else just now. Anywhere else.

"Ma'am?" asked Tish, confused.

"_Surely _you know who Paul Revere was, young lady."

Tish and Ranko looked at each other, blinked, and turned back to the woman. Tish shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Ma'am. We were just going to look him up…"

The old woman sighed, and her expression took on a reproving cast. "I taught elementary school for forty years, and all _my _students certainly knew their American history." The woman's husband had a look of long-suffering resignation on his face, and was making an elaborate show of studying the façade of the Paul Revere House. "Didn't you pay attention to your American history in elementary school?" Her eyes held a look familiar to students everywhere, a look that said she knew darn well you hadn't paid attention, and you'd better spit out that gum besides.

Tish blushed and looked down. She had no idea why she was even responding to his woman; something about her simply compelled it. "My elementary school didn't teach very much American history, Ma'am."

The old woman blinked herself, and her husband turned around, his eyebrows raised in sudden interest. The woman slowly shook her head. "How can that be? Where did you go to school?"

"I went to Hakone-ga-saki elementary school in Tokyo, Japan, Ma'am." Tish looked up, smiling weakly. "I don't know who Paul Revere was, but I can tell you all about Tokugawa Ieyasu."

"Tokugawa Ieyasu?" The old woman frowned. "Who is that?" The four of them looked at each other for a long moment… then burst out laughing. The old woman blushed. "My, I guess it works both ways, doesn't it?"

After a few moments of this she started dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, still chuckling. "I'm so sorry, young lady, I had no idea." She shook her head. "I could tell your friend here is a foreigner, but your English is so good I was sure you were an American."

Tish stopped laughing.

* * *

><p>"<em>That again? I told you, T-chan, I don't even think about it.<em>"

"Don't you speak that damn language to me!"

"_Everyone's looking. I hate the way people stare._"

"_Hanging out with the foreigner again, Kinu?_"

"_Hey, let's all go downtown this weekend._"

"I don't know who you are anymore!"

"_Oh T-chan… Dad got transferred!_"

"_She's not a foreigner, Sayoko, so just shut up._"

"_Ogawa-kun likes… __**me**__?_"

"_Don't pay her any attention, T-chan. She's just jealous 'cause you ranked higher._"

"You stay away from him, or so help me…!"

"_Everyone's wearing it that way._"

"We have to leave, honey. I'm sorry."

"Good night, Tish."

Tish struggled back to consciousness as the room lights snapped off. The hall light outlined a petite figure in the doorway. "_Wait…_"

Ranko turned back. "_What is it?_"

Tish batted her way through the layers of cotton candy swaddling her mind. "_What… what happened?_"

She could barely make out the smile on Ranko's face. "_You crashed pretty hard in the bath. I guess it was all that walking today. You managed to wake up enough to get dressed, but I had to practically carry you here._"

Tish felt lucidity start to return, though she was dead tired. "_Don't… don't go. Turn the lights back on. Please._"

Ranko nodded slowly. "_All right._" She flipped the light switch and stepped back into the room, closing the door behind her. "_What's wrong?_"

Tish shook her head, partly to reassure her roommate and partly to clear the cobwebs. "_Nothing's wrong. I just want to… to talk._" She propped her pillows up behind her, then patted her comforter. "_Please… sit down._"

Ranko regarded Tish soberly for a long moment, then nodded and crossed the room. She sat on the bed cross-legged, positioning herself against the footboard while Tish leaned against the headboard. "_What do you want to talk about?_"

Tish sighed, her eyes wandering around the room. "_After you told me about your… problem this morning, I thought about it all day._" She bit her lip.

A slightly forlorn look came over Ranko's face. "_Tish… does it… are you…_"

Tish shook her head vigorously. "_No, no… that's not what I meant._" She reached out and took Ranko's hand, putting as much warmth as she could muster into her smile. "_I told you, you're still my friend. Your problem doesn't bother me at all._" Ranko nodded, sagging slightly in relief, smiling a wan smile of her own.

Tish blushed slightly, then squeezed Ranko's hand and let go. "_It's just that after you trusted me enough to tell me that, I… I felt that…_" She fiddled with her hands for a moment. "_I wanted to tell you about my past. I've been thinking about telling you for a while now._"

Ranko sat up a little straighter. "_Your past?_" She'd been expecting more concerns about the Cat Fist, and hurriedly shifted mental gears. "_You can tell me if you want. I'll try to help if I can._"

Tish smiled a bittersweet smile. "_I don't know that there's anything to be done, Ranko. But… but I wanted to have someone to talk to about it, someone besides Daddy and Thomas. Daddy always listens, but he just puts on his 'therapist' face, because he still feels bad about what happened himself. Thomas tries, but it's hard for him to play confidant._" Ranko nodded, trying to encourage Tish to continue.

Tish sagged against her pillows, and closed her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. "_It started in preschool. I didn't know any Japanese when I started; we'd just moved to Japan. But I was spending hours every day hearing nothing but Japanese, with kids who couldn't speak anything else. I picked it up really fast. Within a month, I was getting by. In three, I was fluent. By the end of preschool, I spoke it like a native._" Her voice was soft, her eyes unfocused. "_Once I could talk to the other kids, that's when the trouble started._"

"_What trouble?_"

Tish seemed not to hear her. "_They'd never seen a person with black skin before, and I had a funny name, but I spoke the language, and pretty soon it didn't matter any more. I started to make friends. Friends who honestly didn't care that I didn't look like them._" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "_I was accepted into the group._"

Ranko blinked. "_But that was good, wasn't it?_"

A pained smile crossed Tish's face. "_You'd think so, wouldn't you? I became very close friends with a couple of the girls—the kind of friendship that could last a lifetime. My parents and their parents thought it was great: cross-cultural friendship. Very international. Even my mom liked the idea._"

She shook her head. "_Except it wasn't cross-cultural at all. I spent a lot of my time at school or with my Japanese friends, especially once I was in first grade. Mom was busy writing a book and taking care of my new brother, and Japan is so safe for young children she didn't feel like she had to follow me around everywhere, so I hung out with my friends. I'd visit them, play with them, study with them, go places with them… I still spoke English at home with my parents, but that was it._"

She folded her arms over her knees and rested her chin on them. "_My whole social life revolved around my Japanese friends, my Japanese school. I was part of the group—and like all of my friends, I wanted to fit in._" She paused. "_And because my friends didn't care what I looked like, they fooled me into thinking I could._" Ranko's eyes widened. "_None of my friends ever mentioned that I wasn't Japanese. I talked the same way they did, I dressed the same way they did, I did the same things they did. I had this dual life: I was an American with my family, but the rest of the time… I belonged. At least at first._"

Tish sat up straight again, poking listlessly at her comforter. "_Mom started to worry; she refused to send Thomas to Japanese schools, and she tried to get me to play with the American kids who went to school on the base. But they seemed weird to me… foreign. They didn't know how to behave. They didn't know what was cool. They couldn't speak Japanese. We didn't really get along. By the time I was in second or third grade, I didn't really think of myself as an American anymore. I mean, I never thought about it consciously, but I just kind of felt I belonged with my Japanese peers, not those American kids._"

Tish sighed. "_Of course, it couldn't last. Those early friends started to disappear, one by one. Their families moved, or they went to another school, or whatever. More and more of my classmates were people who hadn't known me in preschool, and they thought of me as a foreigner. I still had friends, but there were fewer of them._"

She frowned. "_By then, Mom was starting to get frantic._" She noted Ranko's confused expression and paused, her brow furrowed. "_I… I guess I have to explain something about my parents for this to make any sense. My mom… well, for her, a big part of her identity was her race. From her point of view, we were an African-American family, and she had a whole world-view that revolved around that. It was very important to her, something she was proud of._" Ranko nodded in understanding; there were Japanese who felt the same way about being Japanese.

Tish bit her lip. "_Do you know what my name is?_"

Ranko blinked. "_It's not 'Tish'?_"

Tish shook her head. "_That's just a nickname. My real name is 'Leticia.' Mom wanted to give me a name that she felt reflected our heritage. That's just one example._

"_Dad's always been different; he doesn't really care what color someone's skin is, including his own. He's always been focused on people as individuals rather than as members of some group. It's that gift of his to really __**see**_ _people that makes him such a good psychiatrist. To him, being black isn't his identity, it's just one aspect of who he is._" She waved her hand. "_It's not that he's naïve about racism—we've all experienced our share—or that he's ashamed of his background. It's just never changed the way he looks at the world, what he thinks is important._" She smiled. "_He dated a Korean-American girl for a while, before he met Mom._"

Tish slumped back against her pillows. "_I don't think Dad understood just how important this was to Mom when they got married, and Mom never understood how unimportant it was to him. She couldn't imagine a black person who didn't care about being black—who didn't feel that being black was central to who they were—and assumed he felt the same way._

"_When I was born, he didn't really like 'Leticia,' but Mom felt strongly about it and he wanted her to be happy. When Thomas was born they had a huge fight about his name; Dad thought it was his turn to pick a name __**he**_ _liked, and she didn't like 'Thomas' at all._"

She frowned, her lips pursed. "_Dad's the one who started calling me Tish, just because it was shorter, and I preferred it and used it myself. My mother __**always**_ _called me Leticia, and she was furious about the nickname._" She shook her head, then stopped, her eyes unfocused, and thought a while.

"_Dad tells me that even though it was something they argued about occasionally, it didn't really affect their marriage, not even when we moved to Japan. But when Mom saw what was happening with me, she started to get really upset. Dad… he was bewildered by her behavior, and too close to the whole thing to use his training to see what was coming._

"_Mom would get angry when I'd mention anything Japanese at home. She wanted me to transfer to the American school, and I nearly ran away from home over that, so she backed down. She kept pushing me to spend time with the American kids, but I didn't want to. I clung to my Japanese friends, even as some of the other kids at school started to taunt and bully me. I started to hate the way I looked, the fact that I was this tall, black kid, that I didn't look like my friends. I wanted to change my name to Megumi or Eri or something._" She smiled a mournful smile. "_Stupid, huh?_"

Pain tinged Ranko's voice. "_Tish…_"

Tish just sat there, silent, and for a moment Ranko wondered if she was finished—until she saw tears in the taller girl's eyes. "_Then things got even worse. My best friend, Tajima Kinu, moved away when I was in fifth grade. I started middle school, and wound up at a different school than most of my friends. Then… then something happened that pushed Mom over the edge._"

A lone tear escaped and tracked down her cheek. "_One of the boys in my class, Ogawa Naoki, liked me. A lot of the other kids gave him a hard time for it—I was taller than he was—but he really, really liked me._" Her voice dropped to a pained, labored whisper. "_And… and I discovered that I liked him._" She swallowed. "_We spent some time together, not even really dating, but Mom went ballistic when she found out. She told Dad that if he didn't get a transfer back to the US, she'd… she'd leave him. Dad was blind-sided by all this; he liked Naoki, and couldn't understand why Mom was so over the top, but he pulled all the strings he could—_" She stopped speaking abruptly, and her face screwed up in pain. A tiny sob escaped her, and then suddenly she was crying, hard, tears sliding down her cheeks and leaving shiny tracks.

Ranko hopped off the bed and hurried to Tish's side. She slipped a comforting arm around her roommate, and murmured gently, "_It's OK Tish… it's OK. Go ahead and cry._" Tish nodded, her shoulders shaking, and for a few minutes they sat that way, Ranko handing her friend tissues from a box on the night-stand.

After a while, Tish seemed to gain control of herself, and Ranko gently prompted, "_So you left Japan? Is that why you're so sad?_"

Tish shook her head, the tears still flowing; she dabbed at her runny nose. "_No… That's part of it, but… but the transfer… it didn't come fast enough for Mom. The U.S. military is really slow about some things. The school year dragged on, I kept trying to see Naoki, and Mom got more and more distant from me. She started to get paranoid about Japan; it was corrupting her children, like some bad science fiction movie. I was already a lost cause, and Thomas was going to be next—he was picking things up from me and calling me 'Oneechan.' Finally…_" she hiccuped slightly, "_finally she couldn't take it any more, and she just left. She tried to take Thomas with her, but at the airport they got separated and she lost him. She must have been too afraid to go to the airport police since she was breaking the law, and she just got on the plane by herself._" Tish's face screwed up again. "_Dad and I found out when the police called us, trying to figure out why Thomas was wandering around Narita by himself._"

Tish seemed to be cried out for the moment, but she hung her head, her voice barely above a whisper, still thick with pain. "_Of course, the transfer came through soon after that. I wanted to stay, more than anything, even though I got bullied so much at school, but Dad thought it was for the best. He thought Thomas and I would be better off living back here in the US. He thought we'd find Mom and work everything out. He didn't want to be married to her anymore after that, but he thought Thomas and I would at least get to see her._" She paused. "_But we never did. We never saw Mom again, and we have no idea what's happened to her. Dad finally got a declaration of divorce, and custody of both of us._" She looked up at Ranko. "_And she left because of me! __**Me!**_ _I… I know it's not really my fault. I've been in therapy about this… __**Dad's**_ _been in therapy about this… but it still hurts. It hurts to know that who I'd become was so repugnant to her that she left, even if it was because of her own problems. It hurts that she was willing to leave me behind. For a long time I hated her. Now… now I just miss her. She was flawed, but she's still my mother._" Ranko cringed in sympathy; as bad as her family life had been, neither of her parents had ever stopped loving her. Even if her father had had a hard time showing it until Jusenkyou.

"_So all of a sudden, I was living in the States again. Dad left the Air Force and went into private practice in Manhattan. I landed in school… and I didn't fit in at all. All the other kids were American, but I…_" She trailed off.

Ranko whispered, "_You were Japanese, weren't you?_"

Tish frowned. "_Well… I knew I wasn't, really, and I still do. Maybe if Japan were truly a multiracial society, then… then I could think of myself that way, but I knew better after my last few years of school there._" She sighed. "_But it doesn't matter. For all intents and purposes, I was. Am. In my heart, anyway._" She laughed, startling Ranko. "_Do you know what an Oreo is?_"

Ranko blinked at the _non sequitur_. "_I… isn't it a candy bar or something?_"

Tish smiled. "_It's a kind of cookie, but it's also an insult some people use for someone who's assimilated into white culture. Black on the outside, white on the inside._" Her smile faded a little. "_Daddy says I'm a tuna roll. Black on the outside, but on the inside, white with a red circle in the middle._" They both laughed in spite of themselves.

Tish grew sober again. "_School was really hard at first. I spoke English just fine, but I had no concept of American culture, except what had made it to Japan. The other black kids especially thought I was incredibly weird. I did all these 'Japanese' things, like say 'Itadakimasu' and hold my hand over my mouth when I laughed. I tried to hang out with the Asian kids, but they thought I was weird, too. I didn't fit in anywhere, and I was very lonely. Dad started sending me to private school when his practice took off, but it didn't help._

"_Finally, I decided to try to act the way the other kids did, so maybe they'd like me. I watched them, studied them, and tried to mimic them. It started to work, so I kept doing it, and I got better at it. I faked it when they talked about some band or movie or TV show I'd never heard of. I got really good at it, and that's how I got into acting._" She smiled weakly. "_Most people who know my past think I learned to act pretending to be Japanese, but actually it was pretending to be an American._"

Ranko asked tentatively, "_Are you OK now?_"

Tish sighed. "_Yes and no. I've lived in the U.S. for nine years now, longer than I lived in Japan. But… Japan is where I grew up, where I made my closest friends. I learned Japanese social skills. I'm bilingual, but Japanese is the language I'm most comfortable in, even though I was starting to get rusty before I met you. I could never, ever fit in in Japan… but it's still home. I miss it, even though I know I'm probably better off here. It hurts, to feel like it's home, but I can't __**go**_ _home. I'm not ashamed any more of who I am or what I look like, the way I was in middle school, but people don't understand. They look at me and see a tall black woman, and they think they know who I am, but they don't._" Her jaw was set. "_They don't._"

She looked Ranko in the eye. "_Ranko… thank you. Thank you for understanding. My friends from preschool understood, and Dad and Thomas do, kind of, but no one else really has. I didn't tell you for so long because I didn't know what you'd think; it sounds so… so whacko. Most people have a hard time getting their heads around it. They can't understand why it still matters to me after nine years._"

Ranko leaned over and gave Tish a hug, which was warmly accepted. She pulled back and smiled, tears in her own eyes. "_Tish… believe me, I understand __**exactly**_ _what you're talking about._" _More than you could possibly imagine…_

Suddenly, an idea came to Ranko, and she opened her mouth to speak, then paused, biting her lip. _If I do this, she'll find out about Jusenkyou for sure, and maybe about… Ranma. _After a moment, a small smile stole onto her face. Somehow, that idea didn't seem anywhere near as scary as it had just that morning. She still felt a twinge of uneasiness, but her heart assured her she was doing the right thing. "_Tish?_"

Her friend, who'd been watching the expressions flit across Ranko's face with some confusion, said "_Yes?_"

"_Would you like to come home with me for New Year's? Maybe we can track down some of your friends._"

Tish's jaw dropped open, making her look a little like a fish out of water. She stayed that way for perhaps a minute; then slowly, a smile crept onto her own face, and fresh tears appeared as she nodded her head.

* * *

><p>Dr. Williams watched as an empty train slowly pulled up to their platform. "This looks like yours, girls. I guess we'd better say our goodbyes."<p>

Tish nodded, and turned to her brother. "Goodbye, Thomas. I… I guess I won't see you for a few months." She reached out, and the two embraced.

"I'll miss you, Oneechan. This'll be the first Christmas without you in a while." The two separated, and he smiled a sad smile.

Tish put a hand on his shoulder. "You could always come visit for a weekend…"

Thomas cocked his head. "Maybe. Is this an offer to stay in your suite?"

Tish just laughed. "No, it isn't. I'll see if I can get one of the guys across the hall to put you up." She looked askance at him. "Keep out of trouble, OK?"

A fiendish grin lit Thomas' face. "Never!"

Tish rolled her eyes. "Yes, you'd get along great with the guys across the hall." She turned to her father, who embraced her. "Daddy, I'm sorry about Christmas. If I'd been able to find a cheap flight soon after…"

"I understand, honey." He held her at arm's length. "Are you sure about this? Is it just going to stir up painful memories?"

Tish sighed. "Maybe. But… I really want to go. It's been so long. And if I could find Kinu… or Shigeru… or…" She didn't finish, but they knew who she was thinking of. "Then I could keep in touch with them after I came back." Her eyes glistened. "I'd really like that."

He nodded, and released her, then turned to Ranko. "Ranko, thank you for your kind offer of hospitality. I'm sure you girls will have a great time together."

Ranko shook her head. "I'm very happy to do this, Dr. Williams. Instead, I should thank you for allowing my intrusion into your home during this holiday."

He shook his head. "It wasn't an intrusion at all. It's been a real pleasure… and very entertaining." He winked.

"Yeah!" added Thomas enthusiastically. "If you ever become an action star I'll watch every movie you ever make!"

Ranko laughed, blushing. "Well, I don't think that will happen, but thank you."

The loudspeaker blared to life. "Amtrak train #145, Springfield, Hartford, New York Penn Station. Now ready for boarding." There was a hiss as the doors slid open, and people started crowding onto the train.

"That's our cue," said Tish, hoisting her baggage; Ranko followed suit. Tish leaned forward on tiptoe and kissed her father's cheek. "Goodbye, Daddy. I'll call you."

Dr. Williams kissed her back. "Goodbye, honey. Have fun in Tokyo. If you find your friends… tell them Hi for me. Send me e-mails, OK?"

"I will, Daddy." Tish moved to kiss her brother goodbye as well.

Ranko added, "Goodbye, Dr. Williams, Thomas. Thank you again." She and Tish waved one last time, and joined the throng filing onto the train.

They were in luck; despite not being the first ones on, they managed to find two seats together in the first car. They stowed their luggage in the rack—except for Ranko's violin, which stayed with her—and peered out the window. They spotted Thomas and Dr. Williams, who were waving, just as the doors on the car slid shut. Ranko and Tish waved back enthusiastically as the train started to move. Tish's family was quickly lost from view as the train entered a tunnel, leaving the station.

They settled back in their seats, and Tish looked over at her traveling companion. "_So, what did you think of your first Thanksgiving?_"

Ranko smiled. "_It was a lot of fun. It was nice to be part of a family again for a little while._" Her smile broadened into a grin. "_And I liked the massive overeating part._"

Tish laughed. "_I figured you would._"

"_Thanks again for inviting me. I'm so glad I came here instead of sitting in the room by myself._"

"_You're very welcome. And… thanks for inviting me to your home. I'm looking forward to meeting your family._" She frowned. "_You're really on good terms with your father?_"

Ranko nodded. "_Yes, very. He really does love me, and I love him. It's just that where martial arts is concerned, his judgment is a little bit… skewed. Well, lacking altogether, to be honest._"

Tish rolled her eyes. "_Yeah._" She shook her head. "_I have to admit, that Cat Fist is just about the weirdest thing I've ever heard of._" She blinked. "_Is something wrong?_"

"_No… I just… have a little headache, is all._"

* * *

><p>Ranko paused, her hand on the door of Practice Studio 3K; there were voices coming from inside. Heated voices.<p>

She strained her acute hearing, trained by years with her father to detect the most stealthy of foes—or, more often, creditors. She could make out the words, but couldn't understand them: two people were arguing in a language she didn't recognize. Gradually, her other training came to her rescue, and her musician's ear supplied the answer: it was French. One of the voices was Jean-Pierre's; she couldn't place the other beyond that it was a man's.

She couldn't understand French, but certain words jumped out at her: "_engagée,_" "_fiancé._" And most tellingly, "_Ranko_." She felt a sudden chill; they were talking about _her_. And there was no mistaking the epithet that Jean-Pierre was repeatedly hurling at the other person: "_stupide!_" Another word jumped out frequently: "_Maman._"

This continued for a minute or so, until Jean-Pierre's voice abruptly switched to English. "Stop your badgering, you stupid old man; she'll be here any second now. Do you want her to hear this?" There was a pause. "Actually, she should already have been here…"

She did not take even a moment to think about the odd feeling of _deja vu _this was eliciting. When Jean-Pierre stuck his head out the door a moment later, she was forty feet down the corridor and coming his way. She offered a cheery wave. "Hi Jean-Pierre! I'm sorry I'm a little late." He nodded, and held the door for her until she arrived.

Inside was a middle-aged man with graying, wild hair and a sharp nose. His build was muscular, though his fingers were slender. His brown eyes peeked out from under craggy brows, and seemed both playful and observant. His mouth held the faintest hint of an amused smile. His gaze traveled up and down, seeming to measure her very thoroughly.

That look, and the general cast of his features, introduced him before Jean-Pierre's words could: "Ranko, this is my father, Jacques Laurent. Father, this is Ranko Saotome."

Ranko glanced between the two of them; there was no sign of the animosity she'd overheard moments ago. Curbing her instinct to bow, she held out her hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Laurent."

Jacques took her hand, squeezed it, then startled her by leaning over and pressing it to his lips briefly, though not briefly enough for her tastes. "The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Saotome. Jean-Pierre has told me a lot about you." He smiled. "But I see that mere words were inadequate." Ranko blushed uncomfortably.

Jean-Pierre's eyes tightened slightly, then relaxed. "Father is in town to perform with the Philharmonic."

Ranko leapt at the opportunity to turn the conversation in a more professional direction. "What will you be playing, Mr. Laurent?"

"The Dvořák cello concerto, my dear. A thing of beauty, indeed." He smiled at her, and somehow she knew he was not just talking about music.

She blushed again; she'd finally learned to handle Jean-Pierre's flirting, after a fashion, and it was now quite clear at whose knee Jean-Pierre had learned his approach to women. However, she couldn't very well sass Jacques Laurent back the way she did his son.

Salvation came from an unexpected quarter. "Yes, yes, Father, she is outnumbered, eh? Show some mercy."

The elder Laurent held up his hands in mock surrender, and shrugged. "I merely wished to meet the young lady about whom I have heard so much."

"And so you have, so perhaps you should let us get to work. Ranko has only a short time to work with me this week, as she must prepare for her performance next Friday." The edge in Jean-Pierre's gaze was subtle but definitely present.

"Jean-Pierre!" chided Ranko. "I'm certain we can afford a few minutes for your father."

"Yes, boy, show a little more respect, eh?"

That one remark pinpointed the source of her feeling of _deja vu_, as she remembered another father-son relationship that had had these overtones—even if she hadn't really been a son. She remembered Jean-Pierre's unexpected insight into her own obsession with martial arts: "_And so you focused on it single-mindedly… to the exclusion of everything else." _Had he been in a similar situation?

When she had been Ranma her social skills had left much to be desired, thanks to that single-minded focus, her father's poor influence, and her general misery at being a boy. Once she'd become herself again, her much happier disposition and the influence of her mother and sisters had turned the situation around. She assumed Jean-Pierre had not undergone any magical changes in gender, but could there be other parallels here? The tenor of his relationship with his father, and his somewhat obnoxious manner, were suddenly striking many chords with her.

Her mind was abuzz with curiosity, but she tried to push that aside and focus on the present. "Mr. Laurent, it has been great fun for me to work with Jean-Pierre. He's very talented and is a great artist." Suddenly, Jean-Pierre didn't look so unhappy at having his father stay a few minutes.

"Thank you, my dear."

Her curiosity got the better of her. "Did you help to teach him?"

"Yes, I was his teacher until he was twelve, when he entered the Paris Conservatory." Jean-Pierre's eyes flicked to one side momentarily, as if seeing something unpleasant, and her feeling of _deja vu _grew stronger.

Ranko tried to put on a smile. "It sounds like you have a very musical family."

Jean-Pierre folded his arms and tilted his head slightly; his father was starting to look uncomfortable. "Mm, yes. Music has always been a big part of my life." Jean-Pierre looked like he desperately wanted to add something but was restraining himself.

_OK, let's not talk about the family any more. _"When are you performing the Dvořák cello concerto, Mr. Laurent?"

"I have three performances this weekend." He flashed a very familiar smile. "I would love for you to attend."

Ranko didn't have to feign disappointment: the man was world famous, after all. "I'm sorry. I have my first big public performance next week. I'm filling in for Mei-Lin Chen playing Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons,' and I want to be ready. I'll be practicing all this weekend."

Jacques nodded, frowning; then, his expression brightened. "What were you two going to work on today?"

Ranko and Jean-Pierre exchanged glances. "The Saint-Saëns violin sonata number one."

The older man grinned. "Well, I am here to teach this week. How would you like to try the Mendelssohn trio number 2 instead?"

Ranko was somewhat nonplussed; she was familiar with the Mendelssohn but had studied the Saint-Saëns for today. On the other hand, this was _Jacques Laurent_: not someone you got a chance to play with every day of the week. She turned to Jean-Pierre; he had an unreadable expression on his face. "Well, I don't mind, but…"

Jean-Pierre and his father regarded each other coolly for a few moments. The younger man finally smiled. "Well, why not?"

Jacques smiled as well, though Ranko wasn't sure his eyes were entirely cooperative. "I'll fetch my cello, then. It's in Irene Vincent's office; I'll be back in a few moments. If you'll excuse me, Ms. Saotome." He exchanged another glance with Jean-Pierre, then left.

As soon as he was gone Jean-Pierre turned to her, a little agitated. "Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to."

Ranko blinked, surprised at his earnest concern and not at all sure what was going on. "Really, I don't mind. Your father is a great musician, and maybe I can learn something from him." She tilted her head in inquiry. "Does this change bother you, Jean-Pierre?"

He regarded her soberly for a few moments. "Well… if it really doesn't bother you…"

She shook her head firmly. "Not at all."

He grinned. "Then we'll make it a _menage a trio_." His grin faded at her blank stare. "I guess you don't know that expression, eh?"

She eyed him doubtfully. "I'm pretty sure I don't want to."

* * *

><p>Of course, she'd looked it up straight away when she'd gotten back to her room, and decided she had been right: she hadn't really wanted to know.<p>

The session itself had gone very well, and Ranko was glad she had decided to go along with the idea. She hadn't been able to learn a lot from Jean-Pierre's father, partly because their instruments differed, and partly because she was quite talented in her own right. When Professor Vasilev had told her she was one of the ten most technically accomplished violinists in the world, he hadn't been kidding. And that had been at the beginning of the school year.

Still, Jacques Laurent had done his best. She'd rather expected him to flirt non-stop the way his son did, but instead he'd been… fatherly, not unlike Louis Maastricht or Jari Hajek. Like Jean-Pierre, once the work started he became thoroughly professional. They'd had a frank discussion about her problem with expressiveness, and like his son he'd expressed confidence she had the power within her and merely needed to find a way to release it. Unfortunately, he hadn't had any ideas on how to go about doing that. All these expressions of support she was receiving were starting to weigh a little thin in the absence of any concrete suggestions.

Even though she hadn't learned a lot, the music alone had been enough to make it a wonderful experience. Whatever their differences might be, Jean-Pierre and his father clearly enjoyed playing together. The atmosphere had been that of family members playing chamber music in their home rather than professionals working in a studio. They had included her in that family circle, and it had made for very intimate, spontaneous music-making. It had been exhilarating, and she and Jean-Pierre had run past the end of their scheduled time by a good half hour. If Professor Vincent hadn't come looking for Jacques, they'd have continued another half hour.

It wasn't until hours later that she'd started to wonder just _why _the atmosphere had been so intimate. She was reminded of the first time she'd visited Ryouga's parents, and a sinking feeling came over her: had Jean-Pierre's father been evaluating her as a prospective daughter-in-law? Looking back, it certainly seemed as if that might have been the case. Perhaps that was what they'd been arguing about when she arrived. She sighed, folded her arms on desk, and planted her face in them. _Great. Just great._

"_What's wrong?_" asked Tish, seated at her own desk.

Ranko's voice came, muffled. "_Jean-Pierre's father was there when I arrived for my practice session, and we wound up playing a trio instead of what we'd planned._" She paused. "_I have this funny feeling I was being inspected. I got the same feeling the first time I met my fiancé's parents._"

Tish put her book down and turned around. "_Are you sure? That sounds… pretty serious._"

Ranko turned around and shook her head. "_No… it's just a feeling._" She slumped. "_I don't understand it. He knows I'm engaged. He knows I love my fiancé. I thought he just liked to tease me._"

Tish smiled affectionately, shaking her head. "_You don't have a clue, do you? That is so like you._"

Ranko blinked. "_Huh? About what?_"

Tish leaned forward, her hands clasped together. "_Ranko, I have news for you. The boy is totally nuts about you. He doesn't tease any other woman at the school half as much as he teases you._" She smiled sadly. "_You know little boys tease the girls they like._"

Ranko gaped. "_Are you sure?_"

Tish laughed. "_You didn't notice the way he followed you around like a puppy dog at the Halloween party. Yes, I'm sure._"

Ranko frowned, confused. "_But why doesn't he say anything? It doesn't seem like Jean-Pierre to hold back if he feels that way. I mean, it's not that I want him to, but… I don't understand._"

Tish furrowed her brow for a few moments, staring at nothing in particular. "_I wonder…_"

"_What?_"

"_He's not completely oblivious; he knows you aren't interested in him. You've told him how you feel about Ryouga about a thousand times._" Tish looked up at Ranko and spoke softly. "_Ranko… maybe it's because he loves you that he's just teasing you and nothing more._"

Ranko's eyes widened in realization; it all made sense. Jean-Pierre had surprised her yet again. She was starting to get the feeling that maybe, like her when she had been Ranma, he was basically a kind-hearted person with severely deficient social skills. Having been there herself, she found that she was willing to cut him a little more slack for his sometimes obnoxious behavior. He seemed to have better instincts lurking in there somewhere, underneath the lecherous façade. Sometimes they'd make an appearance, popping out and then scurrying back to their hiding places, afraid to be out in the light of day.

As she pondered the situation, a sinking feeling came over her. Her engagement to Ryouga hadn't put an end to male attentions, not by far, but the vast majority had politely withdrawn after being informed that she intended to honor her engagement. The occasional lout had required more forceful dissuasion.

However, as near as she could tell, they'd pretty much all been motivated by simple lust. To her knowledge, no one since Ryouga had actually fallen in love with her—granted, she wasn't the most astute of observers in that regard, as Tish had just pointed out. There were lots of pretty girls for a testosterone-sodden young man to turn his attention to, but love was different; it was not so easily diverted, especially not the kind that put the loved one's feelings first. This might be a lot more serious than she had thought. And Jean-Pierre might be a much more considerate persion than she had imagined.

She looked up at Tish again. "_Do you think I should talk to him? He's a friend, and I… I don't really want to see him get hurt. But maybe talking about it would just make things worse…_"

Tish thought for a while, then sighed. "_I don't know. But I know I don't want to see __**you**_ _get hurt, either._"

* * *

><p><em>To: Saotome Ranko [rsaotome at juilliard dot edu]<em>

_From: Tendou Akane [akane at tendoudoujou dot co dot jp]_

_Date: Monday, December 6, 2004 8:45 PM_

_Subject: Re: J-P_

_Dear Sis,_

_Why did you wait so long to mention this to me? We could have talked about it on the phone yesterday. Maybe that would have run up your phone bill too much, though. ^_^_

_I talked to Kasumi and Nabiki about it, and we all agree: wait for him to start the conversation. Whether he really loves you or you're just misinterpreting things, either way bringing the subject up with him will just encourage him. Wait for him to make the first move. With any luck, he'll get over it first. It's so like you to be worried about him, but it's really for the best not to bring it up._

_Meanwhile, I have big news today. Remember how I told you yesterday that I thought Kasumi was up to something? Well, sweet, innocent Kasumi is sneakier than the rest of us put together—including Nabiki. Today when she got home from school there was a letter waiting, and suddenly she was jumping up and down and shrieking in a very un-Kasumi-like way._

_Are you sitting down?_

_Wait for it…_

_Today, Kasumi got an acceptance letter from Saitama Medical School. Oneechan is going to be a doctor! That's right, all those biology courses she was taking, all those tests she was cramming for: she was applying to medical schools the whole time and we didn't suspect a thing. Nabiki says that if she were still selling information like she did in high school her reputation would be ruined. Kasumi says she didn't tell us because she didn't want us to worry about it, but I think the real reason is she enjoyed springing the surprise on us._

_She says she's dreamed of being a pediatrician for years, and now she's going to get to do it. I'm so happy for her. She gave so much to take care of the three of us, and I'm glad to see her getting on with her own dreams._

_She's still hoping to hear from Keio, so she can go to school closer to home. If she goes to Saitama, we won't see very much of her since it's 2-3 hours away. Needless to say, Daddy and Uncle Genma are hoping she stays close to home, too. Honestly, you'd think two grown men could learn to take care of themselves._

_We went out for dinner tonight to celebrate, and just got back. I have to hit the books—I have a big test the day after tomorrow and I was counting on studying all evening long._

_I hope everything's going well getting ready for your solo debut. We'll all be listening and cheering you on!_

_Love,_

_Akane_

* * *

><p><em>Something's wrong.<em>

Tish sighed and turned over on her other side, trying to untwist her pajamas in the process. She didn't know what time it was, and didn't particularly want to. What she did want was to go back to sleep, but she knew she wouldn't be able to. Not until she figured out what was wrong.

Being a substitute mother for Thomas for six years had left her with a knack for telling when something was amiss, and something was amiss now. She couldn't imagine what; the room was deathly silent.

_Actually…_

She looked over to the other bed. She could barely see it, but she could just make out that it was empty. She glanced at the clock on Ranko's desk and winced; it was 2:27 AM.

_She just went to the bathroom… _She strained her ears, but no sounds came from the common rooms of the suite, no running water. She couldn't tell much else; the ever-present rumble of the building ventilation system made it impossible to hear anything faint.

"_Where could she be at this hour?_" wondered Tish. Suddenly an idea blossomed, unbidden and unwanted. "_No,_" she groaned, "_she wouldn't…_" She stared at the ceiling for a minute, hoping her silly suspicion would go away of its own accord, then sighed and climbed down out of bed, sliding her feet into her slippers. She grabbed her bathrobe and pulled it on as she quietly crept out into the common area, then cracked open the front door.

She still couldn't hear anything, but she proceeded to unlock the front door and then shuffle over to the practice room in the hallway. She put her ear to the door, and groaned again: there was violin music coming from inside. Shaking her head, she pounded unceremoniously on the door.

The violin music stopped. A moment later, the door opened, and Ranko was standing there, her hair tousled, still wearing her pajamas. Her eyes widened when she saw Tish, and a blush spread over her face. "_Uh oh._"

"_Baka!_" reproved Tish. "_Do you know what time it is?_"

"_Umm, it's 2:31 AM…_" responded Ranko sheepishly.

"_That's not what I mean! How are you going to be able to play Friday if you don't get any sleep? It's the day after… no, now it's tomorrow!_"

Ranko stared at her feet as she slowly traced a line on the floor with one toe. "_I… I just had this passage that was bothering me, and I wanted to get it just right…_"

Tish sighed. "_You won't get anything right if you don't get enough sleep._" She pointed firmly towards the door of their suite. She didn't say any more, but didn't really need to.

"_Just five more minutes?_" Ranko offered up her best puppy dog eyes. "_Pleeeease?_"

Tish's stern visage cracked into a smile. "_OK. But I'm going to sit right over there and make sure it really __**is**_ _five minutes._" She parked herself in a chair against the wall.

Ranko wasted no time; she picked up her violin and immediately launched into a devilishly complex passage. A frown of intense concentration creased her brow. Tish, as always, was in awe of her roommate's skills.

She smiled; it already sounded perfect to her. She knew better than to say so, however; she was the same way with her acting. It was never good enough… She watched and listened appreciatively as Ranko played the passage through several times, then happened to glance at the clock.

"_Oh my gosh, it's ten of three! Where did the time go?_" Ranko blinked and looked up. "_Ranko, you really need to get some rest._" Tish grinned. "_It wouldn't hurt me any, either._"

Ranko hesitated, then nodded contritely and lowered her violin. Her hair fell in her face as she bent over to pick up her music, and she brushed it behind one ear.

Tish watched as the redhead put her violin and bow in their case. "_You really ought to go to bed at a reasonable hour tomorrow night. You've practiced and practiced, and at this point practicing more is not going to help. You need to be relaxed and have your energy on Friday night._"

Ranko sagged slightly. "_I guess you're right. Akane always tells me the same thing. It's a bad habit of mine._" She smiled. "_But I know I've got this nailed now. I feel a lot more confident than I have in a long time._"

"_I'm glad. I'd be even more glad if we could get to bed._" Ranko chuckled and put her palms together in apology.

Under Tish's watchful eye, she padded quietly out of the practice room and into their suite, Tish following her into their room after relocking the front door. Ranko quickly put her things away and climbed into bed, and Tish did the same.

The taller girl was just starting to feel sleepy again when Ranko's voice came softly. "_Thanks, Mom._"

"_You're wel… Oh, shut up._"

* * *

><p>"No… that didn't work either…"<p>

Nine pairs of eyes watched anxiously as Shampoo fiddled with Nabiki's computer, which was perched on the table in the Tendou family room. Normally Nabiki would be the one doing the fiddling, but she had been called to work that Saturday morning on less than a day's notice for an "important meeting." This turned out to be her tagging along as flunky while her boss played golf with his cronies. Needless to say, Nabiki was not happy about missing her little sister's performance in order to play caddy.

Especially so since as word had spread, the occasion had turned into an impromptu social event. The Saotomes and the Hibikis were there, and even Shampoo and Cologne had come over to listen since the concert was scheduled to end before the lunch rush started. Between Kasumi and the visitors from the Nekohanten, there was plenty to eat. Unfortunately, there was nothing to listen to.

Nabiki had carefully tested everything the night before—fuming all the while—and it had all worked perfectly. Despite this, at the moment the speakers attached to her notebook computer were as mute as a mime with laryngitis. Unlucky Shampoo had been drafted to troubleshoot, being the most computer literate person present—which wasn't saying much. The Amazon may not have been a computer whiz, but being a smart woman she had known exactly what to do: she had immediately called Nabiki on her cell phone.

Nabiki, already not in the best of moods, was not enjoying having to provide remote tech support while concealing said activity from her boss. Add in the fact that there was about ten minutes to go before the concert was scheduled to start, and tempers were fraying.

"Yes, I already checked that!" snarled Shampoo into the handset. "You already asked me!"

"Please don't get upset, Dear," said Nodoka. "I'm sure you're both trying your best." Ryouga glanced nervously at his watch, as he'd been doing every minute since the computer had failed to work. His mother patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"Perhaps I could hit some pressure points," offered Cologne. Everyone turned around to stare at her, Shampoo most of all.

"Great-Grandmother, computers don't _have _pressure points!"

"I know that," cackled Cologne. "I was just hoping for an excuse to whack the damn thing."

There were some chuckles as Shampoo rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the phone. "The web browser? Just a second." She did something to the computer and watched.

After a while, she reported "No… that's not working either." She blinked. "What do you mean, 'That's good news'?" She nodded slowly. "Oh, I see. The 'ADSL modem'? What's that?" She listened some more. "Where is it?… OK, just a second." She dashed into the hall, and the others listened as she continued talking out of sight. "I found it. Oh, you're right, the little red light is blinking… Unplug it and then plug it in again? OK… the green light is blinking now… Now it's not blinking…"

Shampoo dashed back into the family room and sat before the computer again as everyone else watched. "Yes… the web browser is working now! Just a second…"

Suddenly loud English blared forth. "…_in just a few minutes. Please stand by while we—_" Shampoo hurriedly turned the volume down as smiles spread around the room. Ryouga sagged slightly, his eyes closed.

"That was it, Nabiki! You're a genius!" She listened for a second and laughed. She turned to the others. "She says, 'Tell that to my idiot boss!'" She turned her attention back to the phone. "You're _sure _you don't want me to beat him up for you? I'd love to, honest, and he'd be so much more tractable… Oh come on, not even a little? Hmph. You're no fun."

Akane was in silent hysterics, mostly because Shampoo wasn't joking.

"If you say so… Yes, I have the recorder ready to start. Thanks, Nabiki… OK… OK… bye." She hung up, and blushed at the spontaneous round of applause she received.

"Thanks, Shampoo," said Ryouga earnestly. "I think we would've missed the broadcast if you hadn't fixed it." There was a chorus of agreement.

Shampoo shrugged even as she smiled in acknowledgment. "Nabiki is the one who figured it out. If she hadn't told me exactly what to do I probably would have tried Great-Grandmother's suggestion." As everyone laughed, she turned the volume back up, started the tape recorder, and went to sit next to Cologne.

"…_evening everyone. I'm Jennifer Miller for Juilliard Student Radio, and tonight we're webcasting live from Alice Tully Hall in Lincoln Center._"

No one was a good enough English speaker to translate the commentary on the fly, but Shampoo, Akane, or Kasumi would interject a comment now and then to let the others know roughly what was going on.

"_Tonight's concert features the Juilliard String Ensemble performing a very challenging program. The first half will be a performance of Vivaldi's four violin concerti, Opus eight, Numbers one through four, better known as 'The Four Seasons.' The soloist will be Juilliard grad student Ranko Saotome, substituting for the scheduled performer, Mei-Lin Chen._"

There were hearty cheers of approval in the Tendou family room. There was not a face in the room that did not beam with pride.

"…_The members of the Juilliard String Ensemble have taken their seats. The applause you hear now is for Ms. Saotome, who has just come on stage._" The applause in New York was echoed in Nerima. As it died down, the sounds of the performers tuning their instruments could be heard, then a short silence.

Suddenly, the music of Vivaldi sprang forth from the speakers, sounding surprisingly good considering how it was being received. Everyone listened intently, and at the soloist's entrance, smiles spread around the room. As always, her playing was magnificent.

Eyes closed as Ranko's family and friends concentrated on listening to her performance, her image fixed in everyone's minds.

* * *

><p>Akane sat on the edge of her bed and sighed. After snacking so much earlier in the day, she'd eaten a lighter supper. Now, it was midnight—and she was hungry again. Too hungry to fall asleep.<p>

"And I used to think Ranko ate like a pig when she was Ranma," she sighed. "Oink, oink." She stood up and pulled on her bathrobe, sliding her feet into her slippers at the same time. She opened the door to her room and started to head down the hall… then stopped. A muffled exclamation had come from Nabiki's room.

She turned back towards her sister's room, and noticed the light was on. She knocked. "Oneechan? Is something wrong? Why are you up?"

She heard Nabiki get up and come to the door. It opened, and Akane frowned; Nabiki's expression was quite grim. Her sister had certainly been fit to be tied when she'd finally gotten home that afternoon, but after listening to the recording of Ranko's performance and taking it easy for a while, she'd relaxed. At least, as much as Nabiki ever did. "What's wrong, Oneechan?"

Nabiki shook her head. "I was going to go to bed, but then I thought, 'It's Saturday morning in New York, and maybe one of the newspapers posted a review of Ranko's performance,' so I checked the web."

Akane suddenly felt an uneasy chill. "And?" The expression on Nabiki's face told the whole story. "That bad?"

"Come in and sit down."

Akane followed her sister back in and sat on the bed; Nabiki sat in her desk chair and turned to face her computer. "Only one paper covered it, the New York Times. I'll just read you the beginning." She cleared her throat, and read in heavily accented English:

"_A Tale of Two Redheads_

"_It seems very fitting somehow that the works of Antonio Vivaldi should be performed by a redhead. After all, the composer himself was famous for it, earning the sobriquet 'The Red Priest.' Redheads are said to be fiery in temper and passion, and while this is no more than an old wives' tale, one could be forgiven for hoping that two redheads together would make a potent combination._

"_So it was that I attended last night's performance in Alice Tully Hall at Lincoln Center with just that little bit of irrational hope. The full length concert by the Juilliard String Ensemble—a group made up of Juilliard students—started with an ambitious performance of Vivaldi's well-known violin concerti, 'The Four Seasons.' The soloist was Ms. Ranko Saotome, an exchange student from Tokyo attending the Juilliard graduate program; she was filling in for the absent Mei-Lin Chen. Ms. Saotome, surprisingly, is a natural redhead, an almost unheard-of hair color for a Japanese. Surely, I thought, here was a kindred spirit who could tap into the heart of Vivaldi._

"_Ms. Saotome's performance was certainly dazzling from a technical perspective. I don't think I've ever heard such crisp, seemingly effortless playing; it was preternaturally precise, and Ms. Saotome has the technical mastery of a performer many years her senior. In many circles, this alone would be enough to brand her a star._

"_Sadly, however, the hoped-for fireworks from the combination of two redheads never ignited. Ms. Saotome's playing is almost military in its precision, and while the performance was as near to flawless as one could wish, there was very little in the way of passion, redheaded or otherwise. There are many ways to interpret Vivaldi, but one way he should definitely not be served is cold. Ms. Saotome has mastered her technique, but still needs much work to find her voice, I think. Still, such a gifted musician bears watching, and I hope that one day Ms. Saotome will find the passion she needs. If she does, she will be a force to be reckoned with._"

Nabiki looked up; Akane looked rather shell-shocked. "That's it on Ranko. The rest is on the rest of the concert."

Akane hung her head, and whispered, "She worked so hard…"

Nabiki's eyes lost focus. "It… it actually was a fairly complimentary review, if you look at it the right way. I mean, it's not like this is a total surprise. Still… I thought…"

Akane sighed. "Yeah."

Suddenly, the phone rang downstairs. Akane blinked. "Who could be calling at this hour?" The two sisters poked their heads out the door, to find Kasumi in the hallway pulling her robe on, hurrying towards the stairs. They followed, soon joined by the fathers.

The answering machine had just picked up when Kasumi interrupted it by picking up the handset. "Hello, Tendou Residence." She said it just as cheerfully as if it were midafternoon rather than well after midnight.

An expression of concern came over her face. "Are you all right, Miss? Please try to calm down, and I'll try to help." She listened for a moment more. "Yes, she's right here. Just a moment, please." Kasumi lowered the handset. "Akane, it's someone calling from New York. She seems very upset, and she wants to speak with you."

Akane nodded uncertainly, and took the handset from Kasumi. "Hello, this is Tendou Akane."

An agitated voice came from the other end. "Tendou-san? Oh, thank God! This is Tish Williams; I'm Ranko's roommate. She gave me your phone number to call in case she had one of her Cat Fist episodes…"

Akane's eyes bulged; Ranko had told her her roommate's Japanese was flawless, but Tish could have said her name was Keiko and Akane would have been none the wiser; she had no trace of an accent. No, that wasn't quite right: she had the accent of a Tokyo native. "Yes, Ranko told me about you. What's wrong?" She shifted uneasily. "Is Ranko in the Cat Fist right now? I can try to calm her down if you can get the phone close enough for her to hear. A speakerphone would help if you've got one." Akane sighed; doing this over the phone had been very difficult the one time she'd had to.

Tish's voice grew even more agitated. "No, it's not that at all. Ranko… she's… she's disappeared! No one has seen her for hours!"

* * *

><p>End Chapter 6<p>

Sunday, March 18, 2007

**Copyright Notice **

The characters and stories of Ranma ½ are Copyright © Rumiko Takahashi, and are used here without permission or license.

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.

This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.

This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Ranma ½ characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Ranma ½ as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

All original characters and story elements expressed herein are Copyright © 2002-2007 by the author.


	7. Chapter 7: Families

Notes from Juilliard

By ClassicalGal

Chapter 7

* * *

><p><em>This is stupid. I can't believe I came all the way here.<em>

Tish hesitated a moment, then pushed her way through the glass doors into the gathering twilight. She was greeted by a breeze that, though gentle, was so icy it quickly brought tears to her eyes. Or perhaps they were tears of frustration…

_She can't possibly be here… it's too cold. She hates being cold._

After speaking with Ranko's sister, Tish had managed to calm down. Akane had told her that Ranko had a tendency to wander off when she needed to think about things, but usually came back in a few hours. That calm had lasted until mid-afternoon, when "a few hours" had stretched into most of a day. Following Akane's advice, Tish had searched all the roofs in Lincoln Center, followed by Ranko's favorite haunts. She had had no luck anywhere, and her anxiety was starting to build again.

She was well aware that her roommate was more than capable of taking care of herself, and that she was probably just slow to come home. Tish kept telling herself so, over and over. She still couldn't help being worried, so she kept looking. After exhausting the obvious, the thought had come to her to search here, and while it seemed implausible, doing something was far preferable to doing nothing.

She hugged herself and rubbed her arms to warm up; as she was doing so she locked gazes with the security guard, a heavyset black woman.

The guard smiled at her. "Pretty cold today. You're one of the few brave ones."

Tish nodded emphatically. "I'm looking for a friend, actually. I thought she just might be here."

The guard waved her on in invitation. "It won't take you very long today, honey." She winked.

Tish nodded and set off briskly around the observation deck of the Empire State Building. The guard was right; there were only a handful of people, scattered here and there. To Tish's eye, they all seemed to be wondering what on Earth they were doing here on such a frigid day. She snorted at herself again for even thinking of coming here. It had been a crazy idea, really, but she was fresh out of sensible ideas. _I can't believe I spent twenty dollars to come up here on the off chance…_

She spared a brief glance for the view, which was spectacular. New York was lit up in all its glory, easily repelling the encroaching night. The wind blew insistently, but the view was clear and steady, and she could see for tens of miles in every direction. She looked to the Northeast, and wondered what Thomas and her father were doing now. Probably starting to make dinner.

Suddenly she stopped short, experiencing that momentary disorientation felt while deciding whether to believe your eyes. Twenty feet ahead of her, a forlorn young woman was bundled up in coat, scarf, and hat. Her arms were folded on the guardrail, her chin resting on top of them, and her face was pressed against the wire security fence as she watched the world go by far below.

Somehow, she seemed even smaller than usual.

Tish sagged slightly; it couldn't have been a pleasant way to pass the day. She approached cautiously, as if afraid the figure in front of her was some kind of mirage that would evaporate if examined too closely. As she grew closer, Ranko seemed to sense her and looked up; Tish couldn't help but notice the dried tears. "_Tish? What are you doing here? I was about to…_" She trailed off as she looked around. "_It's dark already? Have I been here…_" Her face paled. "_Uh oh…_"

Tish didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and wound up doing both. "_Ranko no baka! Do you know how worried we've all been? I mean… I mean, it's not like you can't take care of yourself, but when we hadn't seen you since early this morning…_"

Ranko was aghast. "_Oh God, I'm so sorry… I was just thinking, and I completely lost track of the time. I didn't… I mean, I would never…_" She clasped her gloved hands together and bowed deeply. "_Gomen nasai!_"

Tish sighed; it was impossible for her to stay upset with Ranko for any length of time. "_Oh, come on, then, let's go home. If we hurry we can make it before the cafeteria closes._"

Ranko nodded, and together they walked back around towards the entrance. Ranko pulled her scarf a little tighter around her neck as the wind picked up.

The security guard smiled as they passed her. "I see you found your friend."

Tish nodded. "Yes, thanks." Ranko was blushing furiously and avoiding eye contact, too embarrassed to say anything.

It was considerably warmer inside, and both women relaxed slightly as they left the chill wind behind. Tish wondered how Ranko could possibly have had the endurance to stay out on the observation deck all day.

They had the elevator to themselves on the way down; Ranko stared at her feet, her brow knit. Tish, her mind finally able to move past the worry that had occupied it all day, started to notice Ranko's demeanor by the time they were in the elevator for the last leg. "_Hey,_" she said softly.

Ranko looked up, her startling blue eyes looking at Tish but seeming far, far away. "_What?_"

"_How are you doing? What have you been thinking about all day?_"

Ranko sighed and looked down again. "_I've been wondering if I should still be aiming to be a soloist._"

Tish blinked. "_Huh? Why?_"

Ranko looked up at the floor indicator for the elevator; they were passing the 40th floor. She swallowed to pop her ears; the rapid descent made the pressure change very noticeable. "_Well… I'm out of ideas. I thought if I just worked hard, if I just kept at it, I'd get there eventually; it's always worked for me before. I was sure I was ready for that concert, I was sure I had it nailed, but my performance still wasn't good enough. I've tried everything I can think of to solve this problem. I've tried everything Professor Vasilev could think of. I've even tried everything Jean-Pierre could think of. None of it is working. Maybe… maybe nothing will. Maybe no amount of hard work will be enough. Maybe it's me._" She fell silent, and Tish gave her time to think.

The elevator chime sounded, and the car slid to a halt; the doors opened onto the lobby floor. Ranko was still frowning as they headed for the exit. "_I've even been wondering if I should continue to pursue the violin as a career._" Tish's jaw dropped. "_I mean, I don't have problems like this with martial arts. I could help Ryouga run the dojo after we get married. I wouldn't be traveling, and I'd get to spend a lot more time with my family._" She looked up and noticed Tish's slack-jawed expression, and smiled. "_I'm not thinking about that option very seriously. I still want to be a classical musician, more than anything. I love playing the violin. I can't imagine not playing the violin._" She sighed. "_But I can't help thinking about how I seem to be better at martial arts. Maybe my success at that gave me unreasonable expectations about my musical skills. Maybe they're not up to the demands of being a soloist. Maybe I should be looking into playing with an orchestra, or a chamber music group. Or teaching._"

Tish asked carefully, "_Do you honestly believe any of that, Ranko?_"

Ranko thought for a while as they exited onto 34th Street. "_If you'd asked me two days ago, I would have said no, absolutely not. I've been totally focused on being a soloist ever since I became a violinist; it's what I want to do. I was sure I could do it; a part of me can't quite believe I'm thinking of… of giving up. But I'm really starting to wonder. And if I can't solve this problem, I may not have a choice._"

"_So what are you going to do?_"

Ranko deflated slightly, and pulled her coat a little tighter around herself. "_I don't know. I'm not ready to give up yet, but I don't know what else to try._"

* * *

><p>"Earth to Saotome. Come in, Saotome."<p>

Ranko looked up and blinked. "Huh?"

Jean-Pierre was waving at her. "I thought my practice partner was in the room, but it seems she is elsewhere. Perhaps you could call her for me?" He folded his arms. "I'll wait right here." He looked off to one side with a nonchalant air, and started to whistle. Off-key.

Ranko blushed. "I'm sorry… I… Oh, we were going to play the _largo _again, right?"

Jean-Pierre raised an eyebrow. "Ahhh, very good, you remembered. Yes, we were, and I've been waiting for over a minute for the violin to introduce the piano."

Ranko's blush deepened. "Oh."

Jean-Pierre closed the lid on the piano and swiveled around on the piano bench to face her. "I think I will wait for your spaceship to land before we continue."

Ranko shook her head and sighed, and laid her violin on top of the piano. "I'm sorry to be so distracted." She went to sit on one of the metal folding chairs against the wall, crossed her legs, rested her elbow on one knee, and propped her chin up on her fist. "I just finished a meeting with Professor Vasilev before I came here, and I guess I'm still thinking about it."

"Don't tell me… the faculty committee."

She glanced over at him for a moment, then looked away, staring at nothing in particular. "They weren't impressed with my performance."

He nodded. "Yes, so?"

She shrugged, and managed a faint, halfhearted smile. "I won't get another opportunity like that unless my playing improves."

He nodded again, a little impatiently. "A temporary setback." Her face clouded further. "What is it?"

"Well, I… I wonder if it _is _temporary. I talked it over with the Professor." She bit her lip and looked down.

He frowned, and leaned forward. "What do you mean? Why… What did he say?"

Ranko hesitated a moment, then replied with a sigh, "He says I have to decide what I want to do. He will support me if I want to keep trying as a soloist. I told him I was thinking about it."

Jean-Pierre shook his head. "I don't understand. Thinking about what?"

Ranko blinked, bewildered. "About being a soloist. It's what I want to do, but maybe I can't do it. Maybe I should work with a chamber music group, or an orchestra."

He leaned forward, intent, and there was an expression of disbelief on his face. "You're not thinking of… giving up, are you?"

She winced. "Well… I wouldn't say it that way, but… I guess it's true. I think—"

Jean-Pierre shot to his feet, his hands balled into fists at his side. "You can't give up!" he said heatedly, cutting off Ranko in mid-sentence and leaving her gaping like a fish. She had never, ever seen Jean-Pierre get this emotional before. The lighthearted playboy was gone, replaced by an intense young man she didn't know. Or maybe she did know him, but only through the sound of a piano…

All she could manage was,"Wh-what?"

"You can do it. I _know _you can do it! Don't give up, Ranko. You _cannot _give up."

Jean-Pierre was surprising her yet again, and she struggled to regain her equilibrium. "I… I don't _want _to give up, but… but I don't have any more ideas to try. I've been working on this problem for over three years now, Jean-Pierre."

His eyes narrowed. "And the Professor has no more ideas?"

Ranko felt slightly mesmerized, and tore her gaze away. "Well—no, he doesn't, not right now. He's tried very hard, but he can't think of anything else yet. I can't, either." She frowned. "Ira Zoll is coming Thursday. Professor Vasilev thinks maybe he will have some ideas." Her face fell slightly. "If he can't help, then… then I'll have to think very hard about what I want to do."

Jean-Pierre shook his head emphatically. "No! No, you can't give up, no matter what." He took a half step towards her, then stopped. "I know you, I know what is in your heart. You can be a great artist!"

She sighed, starting to get a little exasperated. "Jean-Pierre, my problem is not self-confidence. If it was I would have given up three years ago. I appreciate that you're encouraging me, but—"

He interrupted her again, his eyes flashing. "I'm not just saying empty words to cheer you up!"

She nodded vigorously. "I know, I know. I'm happy that you believe in me." She smiled a half smile. "But maybe you are not completely objective?"

He raised an eyebrow, and the trademark grin returned. "Oh? And why wouldn't I be objective?"

"Well, you… you…" She stopped suddenly, and flushed deeply. She bowed her head, embarrassed, wishing she could pull her head inside her turtleneck sweater like a real turtle. She hadn't meant to open this particular can of worms. "Umm, be… because you are my practice partner, and my friend," she finished lamely.

She felt a hand raise her chin; he was squatting down in front of her, his eyes level with hers. Those startling blue eyes they shared. "If you give up I know you will regret it, that you will be unhappy. I want you to promise me you will not give up." He put his hands on her shoulders, and somehow it didn't occur to her to protest. "Promise me, please." His gaze was intense, and her insides were twisting in knots.

She stared back at him for a long moment, blushing horribly all the while, unable to look away. Finally, she shook her head, and whispered, "Jean-Pierre… giving up is not something I do easily. It's the last thing in the world that I want to do. I want to be a soloist, more than anything. But… I can't make that promise to you." Her voice firmed. "When I was a teenager I learned a painful lesson, about trying to build a life on top of a lie, trying to be something I wasn't. I won't do that to myself again." She gazed back at him steadily; then her eyes turned to her right shoulder and the hand resting there.

Slowly, grudgingly, his gaze softened, and he nodded. He withdrew his hands reluctantly and stood up, his demeanor still very serious. "It's not a lie, Ranko. I am sure you have it in you."

Ranko sagged and closed her eyes in frustration. "I always thought so too. So why can't I find it?"

* * *

><p>Ranko sat with her knees together, both her violin and her gaze in her lap. Her heartbeat was marking a brisk <em>allegro<em>.

"Ranko-chan…" She looked up; Professor Vasilev was smiling at her from across the room. "Relax."

She smiled weakly. "I'm trying." She looked around; it was a smaller practice room than the one she used with Jean-Pierre. There was a small studio upright piano and a few chairs.

"Why are you so jittery?"

Ranko gave a short, nervous laugh. "Well, first, I'm about to meet a living legend, and second, I… I'm wondering if he's going to be able to help me, or…" She didn't finish.

Ira Zoll was without question the most famous violinist alive, for good reason. His career spanned decades, and though he was in his eighties he still performed. These days, however, it was mostly for special occasions—like a state dinner at the White House, or a benefit concert. He had hundreds of recordings, and was beloved the world over. He was a major force in the world of classical music, and in the world at large.

Peter came over to sit next to her. "Yes, he's world famous, but you shouldn't let that intimidate you." He smiled. "You've already worked with other top violinists."

Ranko smiled a wan smile. "Yes, but he's more than a top violinist. He's a… a…" She frowned. "Like a movie star. I can't remember the word."

"A celebrity."

She nodded. "Yes, that's it."

His smile widened into a grin. "Ira is a celebrity, all right, but he's also a regular guy. He puts his pants on one leg at a time."

Ranko nodded thoughtfully. "I do too, usually, unless I'm in a big, big hurry. It's too easy to rip them the other way."

Peter opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it again. He briefly contemplated trying to explain the expression he'd used, and decided that maybe he shouldn't just now. "Speaking of pants…you needn't have dressed up, really."

"Oh," said Ranko in a small voice. She'd reached into her meager collection of dressy clothes and picked out a conservative, professional-looking dress, hose, and heels. Somehow, it hadn't occurred to her to wear blue jeans and a sweater to meet Ira Zoll.

Peter leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. "As for the other… I don't know if he'll be able to help you with your expressiveness. But I do know you'll learn _something _from him. Ira is like that." Ranko was staring into her lap again. "It's not helping that he's a half hour late, is it?" She shook her head mutely.

Time passed slowly, but finally the door to the practice room opened, and Ranko looked up, her heartbeat accelerating to a thumping _presto_. Irene Vincent came in, followed by a middle-aged woman Ranko didn't recognize, and… Ira Zoll. Ranko shot to her feet, remembering at least to lay her $55,000 violin on the chair beside her rather than dump it on the floor.

Ira Zoll looked old. _Very _old. He was wearing… blue jeans and a sweater. Unusually for someone his age, he was six feet tall, but so thin as to seem almost emaciated. His white hair hung in a faint fringe around his otherwise bald head. His skin was wrinkled and hung loose; it was thickly mottled with age spots. The only part of him that didn't look old was his eyes: they were a warm, liquid brown, and twinkled from either side of a simply enormous, fleshy nose. He looked like a decrepit, ancient, six foot tall Jewish pixie.

The woman who was with him had wavy brown hair shot with threads of silver-gray, and was somewhat tall herself. Her brown eyes and general features announced that she was related in some way to Ira Zoll. She was holding onto his arm to steady him, and carrying a violin case.

Peter leapt up, a broad smile on his face. "Ira! It's great to see you." He strode over and gave the elderly man a fierce hug, which was returned feebly. Ranko winced; it seemed like Peter was going to snap the maestro in two. Judging by the expression on the middle-aged woman's face, she felt the same way.

Ira didn't seem to mind, though; he laughed softly, and spoke in a rough, quavering voice. "Peter, it's been too long."

Peter released him and stepped back, chuckling. "What, six months?"

Ira nodded. "Like I said, too long. I missed my usual visit earlier this fall." The relative's face clouded, and Ranko wondered what was going through her mind. "I didn't get a chance to meet the new students."

Peter smiled and turned to the middle-aged woman. "Anne, it's nice to see you again. Don't worry, I won't break him."

Anne laughed. "Sorry, Peter."

Ira shook his head. "Why does everyone act like I'm some fragile old man?"

"Dad… you _are _a fragile old man. You're 86."

"Bullshit. I'm just pretending so I can get senior discounts."

Peter grinned affectionately. "Anyway, speaking of meeting the students…"

Ranko swallowed when all the eyes in the room turned in her direction; Peter gestured in introduction. "Ira, Anne, this is Ranko Saotome, my student. Ranko, Ira Zoll, and his daughter Anne Kravinsky."

Ranko tentatively reached out a hand, and gently took the wrinkled one offered in return. She was surprised when her gentle pressure was returned with a firm grip. "It's a great honor to meet you, Mr. Zoll." She nodded at his daughter. "And you, Mrs. Kravinsky."

Ira released her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Ranko. Please, call me Ira." He looked her up and down, and the pixie eyes twinkled. "And tomorrow, wear comfortable clothes."

She bobbed her head as her cheeks flushed slightly. "Yes, Mr. … Ira."

"Peter has told me a lot about you. I've been looking forward to meeting you." She nodded mutely, and he laughed again. "Try to relax, my dear. I don't bite. Well, not often, and I've had all my shots." She smiled faintly, and he waved at the chairs. "Let's sit down, all right?" Ranko nodded, and they did. Peter took a seat as well.

Irene Vincent eyed the nervous redhead carefully. "Anne, it's a little cramped in here, so why don't you and I go to my office and chat?"

The other woman hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Peter, maybe we can catch up some more later?" He nodded. "Ranko, it was very nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll see you again while my father is working with you." The young woman smiled back, and Anne turned to follow the department chair out the door.

"Annie," called Ira. She turned back, her eyes questioning. "My fiddle."

"Oh." She looked down at the case in her hand and chuckled. "Sorry, Dad." She crossed the room to hand it to him, then left. The door closed, and the room grew quiet. Ranko's gaze bounced back and forth between the two older men.

Ira rubbed his hands together. "So, shall we get to work? We don't have a lot of time today; I have another engagement in a couple of hours."

Ranko blushed and nodded. "Ummm… Maybe I should start by explaining…"

Ira laughed and waved his hands. "I already heard all about you from Peter." Ranko's blush deepened. "What I want first is to hear _you_, not to hear more about you. Why don't you play for me, and then we can talk."

Ranko nodded and reached for her violin case, and started to take out her instrument. Ira leaned forward, intent. "What do you play?"

Ranko started to relax as the talk turned to business. "It's a Lott 'del Gesù.' I've had it for about five years now."

Ira nodded thoughtfully. "Here, just a minute." He opened the case in his lap and took out his own violin. "I want you to try mine. It's the real thing, a Guarnerius." He smiled. "I know it's a bit of a curve ball, but it'll be easier for me. I know that violin very, very well; I know every sound it can make. So I'll be listening to you, not your violin."

Ranko stopped what she was doing and just stared for a moment; she'd never laid her hands on such a priceless instrument before. "O… OK. I'm used to mine, so it might take me some time to get used to it…" She lay her own violin down, and gingerly accepted the genuine article. "Should I use my own bow?"

"What kind is it?"

Ranko felt her cheeks grow warm. "It's a graphite bow. The violin is loaned to me, but there was no bow with it, so I had to buy my own. The graphite one was the best bow I could get for what I could afford. I thought I could get a better bow when I started performing." It struck her suddenly that if things kept going as they had been, it might be a long, long time before she could afford a really good bow, much less a violin like the one in her hands.

Ira nodded. "Very sensible. Here, use mine." He handed it over. "It's a LaFleur."

Ranko tried hard not to think about how much it would cost to purchase what she was holding. She tried to grin and only partially succeeded. "I sure hope I don't drop these."

Ira laughed. "Don't worry, if you do, I'll say I did." He winked. "I'm sure the insurance company expects me to anyway." Ranko and Peter laughed too, and Ranko felt a little better. He might be a celebrity, but he was funny and unassuming. "Here, now that I've outfitted you, play something. How about some Paganini? Peter tells me you can pull off the Caprices with those itty-bitty fingers." He grinned. "This I have to see!"

Ranko giggled and relaxed further. She started tuning up the instrument, and was intrigued. It wasn't as different as she had thought it would be—her own was worth a fair penny, after all, and deservedly so—but there was something about the tone she could hear even while just tuning it.

She launched into the Caprice number 1 in E major, and tried hard to focus on expressing herself. At the same time, she explored the abilities of the violin she was playing, like a rider on an unfamiliar horse. The first couple of minutes were awkward, but the more she played, the more she was convinced that this violin had something her own did not. There was a quality to the tone that was unlike anything she had ever played before. _I could get used to this real fast… _She started to lose herself in the music as she felt more and more in control of this magnificent instrument. She didn't notice the quiet smile on Professor Vasilev's face.

Ira watched intently, the pixie eyes piercing and showing not a whit of his advanced age. When she finished the first Caprice, she looked up, questioning, but he merely nodded and gestured that she should continue. She played on another twenty minutes or so in this fashion, until he suddenly bade her stop after the number 7 in A minor. "OK, that's enough."

She looked up again, expecting some commentary, but Ira was looking off to one side, deep in thought. Finally, he looked back. "Now some Bach partitas. Peter tells me you know those forwards and backwards." She nodded and started in on the very first piece she'd ever performed in public, the E major. Again he let her finish, his eyes never wavering.

Still he made no comment on her playing. He gestured towards the younger man. "Peter, would you take the piano, please? I'd like to watch her playing with someone. Maybe the Brahms D minor Sonata?"

Peter nodded and sat before the small upright piano. "Ready when you are, Ranko-chan." She inclined her head, and they began.

Ranko kept looking for some sign from the famous violinist as to what he thought of her playing, but he just watched, his eyes tightly focused, his craggy eyebrows creased in concentration; he almost looked like he was brooding. Each time they finished a piece, he asked them to play another.

Finally, after an hour of this, he abruptly called a halt. "All right. I've seen everything I need to see. Ranko, thank you; I'm sorry to have made you play nonstop for so long. Sit down and have a rest. Thank you, too, Peter." Professor Vasilev nodded and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

Ranko sat down, Ira's exquisite violin cradled carefully in her lap. "Ira… what… I mean…"

He smiled. "You're an extraordinarily talented girl, my dear. Tomorrow, we'll have more time and we'll work on technique; I think I can give you a few tips. But today, I wanted to focus first on your problem with expressiveness."

Peter looked nearly as anxious as Ranko; they both leaned forward in their chairs. "Do you have any ideas, Ira?" They both hung on his answer.

Ira paused for a long moment, then shook his head and blew out his breath. "No. No, I don't."

Ranko bowed her head in frustration, and fought back tears. This man had been her last remaining hope…

Ira waved his hands. "Hold on, hold on, what's with the faces? I may not have a magic fix, but I do have some things to tell you."

Ranko's head snapped up, her eyes glistening. "You… you do?"

The old man nodded. "First, and most important, I agree with Peter. I think you have the potential to overcome this."

Ranko sagged weakly in her chair, as she fought back tears of an entirely different nature. "Are you sure?"

He sighed and shook his head. "No, I can't be sure; that's just not possible. All I have is a feeling." She looked at him inquisitively, and he leaned back in his char. "Look, I've listened to technically brilliant but musically vacuous students. To quote Gertrude Stein, there's no _there _there." He leaned forward again, intent, and gestured with his hands for emphasis. "You weren't like that; you did _something _with that violin; there _was _a 'there' there. Unfortunately, I don't know where that 'there' is. I just can't explain it any better.

"I also watched you with Peter. The way you worked with him, the way you were able to communicate with him and respond to him, told me that you _are _in touch with the music at an emotional level. Now, that doesn't mean you can express something yourself, but I have to believe someone with your technical skills can figure out how to connect what's going on in your gut with your instrument at some point." He smiled an approving smile. "By the way, you figured out how to make that old fiddle sing ungodly fast; that's pretty slick in my book." Peter nodded in agreement.

He paused a moment, the smile fading. "This is the damnedest thing I've ever seen, and believe me, I've seen a lot. I've never seen another student with this problem; it's something unique to you."

Ranko sighed. "I'm out of ideas for what to try next."

Ira shrugged. "I wish I had one for you. Tomorrow we'll work on what I _can _teach you. I'm sorry I can't help you figure this out, but it's outside my experience." He waggled a finger at her. "I want you to keep trying, though. You've got enormous talent, and that's a gift not to be wasted. It's worth throwing everything you can at this problem."

She felt her spirits lift. The recent negativity from some of the faculty and other students—and from herself—seemed less substantial in the face of this man's opinion. It wasn't the hoped-for breakthrough, but it was enough to spark her spirit and keep her going, at least for a while. A smile crept onto her face. "Thank you, Ira."

The old man stabbed his finger at his Russian friend. "I want you to stay on her case, Peter. Got me?"

Professor Vasilev laughed and nodded. "I wouldn't dream of crossing you, Ira. It's good to hear someone else feels the same way about Ranko-chan… especially if it's you. I trust you more than anyone else."

Ira grinned. "Me, I trust that fiddle. It doesn't know how to lie."

* * *

><p>"OK, next, I want to try—" Ira Zoll was cut off in mid-sentence by a clearly audible growl. The look of surprise on his face was replaced by a grin.<p>

Ranko blushed hotly. "Sorry about that."

His grin broadened. "That was the second time. It sounds like your alligator wants to be fed."

Ranko lowered her violin. "My… alligator?"

"Sure. That's what I always used to say to Annie and George when they were little. You know, because of the alligators in the sewers…" He trailed off at the total lack of comprehension in her eyes. "Never mind. You're hungry, right?"

Ranko offered up a guilty smile and shrugged. "Very."

Ira nodded. "Perfect timing, me too. Let's dump this stuff and go get something to eat." He looked around for a moment, then put his worn notebook on top of the piano. He took a second to stretch, holding his arms out and and moving his neck back and forth.

They'd been working since first thing that morning; it was a good thing Ranko was an early riser, as Ira was a morning person himself. She had been surprised at how much time the old man was willing to spend with her. She would have thought that he had other things to do besides—the man played for presidents and kings, after all. She felt a little guilty about monopolizing his time when there were other students who could benefit from his wealth of experience. But not too guilty…

She turned towards her violin case, then paused. "Will we meet your daughter?"

Ira shook his head. "She's meeting an old friend for lunch today." He grinned and folded his arms. "It's just you and me."

Ranko smiled back, then set about putting her violin away. She spoke over her shoulder. "I guess we can go to the cafeteria…"

Ira waved his hand dismissively. "Pfeh. I have someplace much better in mind. We have to ride the subway one stop, but it's worth it."

Ranko closed her violin case and turned around. "Shouldn't we use a taxi or something? Do you really want to ride the subway?" She frowned.

Ira nodded once, firmly. "I'm sure. I used to walk to this place; it's only seven blocks from here, at 72nd Street. C'mon, you'll see." She smiled again and nodded herself.

They both put their coats on, and soon were on their way down the corridor towards the elevators.

As they walked, nearly every person they passed paused to greet Ira; some stopped to talk. Ranko couldn't help noticing that many of them looked her over, clearly wondering what her connection was to the maestro.

As a result of all the glad-handing, it was twenty minutes before they were walking out the front door. Ira seemed a little unsteady on the broad flight of steps down to the plaza, but something in his bearing kept Ranko from offering assistance. "Aren't you worried about people recognizing you as we walk?"

Ira laughed. "Don't worry, as we get away from here very few people will know who I am. You'll see, on the subway I'll be just another grouchy old New Yorker."

They drew a fair number of looks as they crossed the plaza, but as they left the campus and walked up Broadway, the gawkers diminished. The occasional person would stare at Ira, clearly trying to place where they'd seen him, then give up and move on.

He gestured expansively. "You see? Very few people recognize me. Sure, lots of people might have heard of me, but they don't recognize me on the street." He winked. "Once I stopped wearing my 'Hi! I'm Ira Zoll' name tag, it stopped being a problem." Ranko giggled.

In due time they reached the 66th Street station, and Ira stopped at the top of the flight of worn, narrow concrete steps. He just stood there, his brow furrowed and his lips thinned, as if he were faced with a difficult problem. Ranko took a moment to recognize the unspoken request. She tentatively reached out, hesitated, then put her arm through his.

She had guessed right: Ira stepped forward, and together they slowly made their way down. She hadn't had much practice at this kind of thing; her three surviving grandparents were all considerably younger than Ira, and got around just fine on their own, thank you very much.

She bit her lip; despite his bravado, Zoll-sensei _was _frail. He seemed even older in that moment, as if the act of acknowledging the need for such assistance made his age more real, like the cartoon character who steps off a cliff but doesn't fall until he notices that his feet are no longer on the ground. As they reached the bottom, he muttered a brief "Thanks," his tone an eloquent testimony to his frustration. On impulse, she gave his arm a brief squeeze in sympathy, and his expression lightened a little.

They were in luck; a train was just pulling into the station as they made it to the platform. The doors slid open, and they boarded, Ranko again helping the old man over the gap between car and platform. She spied two empty seats out of the corner of her eye—riding a subway was second nature to her—and made a beeline, at least as fast as she could with Ira.

Once they were seated and his independence was regained, Ira's good humor returned, though he seemed pensive; Ranko left him to his thoughts. As they rode the Seventh Avenue Local one stop north, Ranko continued to notice the occasional stare, and thought that Ira might not be as anonymous as he believed. She supposed the attention could just as well be due to the odd juxtaposition of young Japanese woman and elderly Jewish gentleman.

After another slow trip up a similar flight of stairs, they reemerged into the pallid December sunlight, facing a small, narrow, triangular park, which might have been attractive had the trees not been devoid of leaves. "Verdi Square," remarked Ira.

Ranko raised an eyebrow. "The composer?"

"Yeah, there's even a statue." He pointed off to one side; Ranko followed his direction to the marble statue of the composer and some of the more famous characters from his operas. "OK, across the intersection and we're there."

A short walk brought them to a small but garish glass storefront that seemed the focus of a whirlwind of pedestrian traffic and noise. "Gray's Papaya," announced Ira proudly, as if he ran the place himself. "Best hot dog in New York."

"Hot dog…" A frown creased Ranko's brow as she tried to place the term; suddenly her face lit up. "Oh, I know what hot dog is! I had that once when I went with my fiancé to a baseball game." She paused, looking a little uncertain. "It's a kind of sausage, right?"

"Bingo."

Ranko's smile faded further. "Does this restaurant put pork in it?" The sausage shape had made her and Ryouga very suspicious, but the vendor at the Tokyo Dome had assured them that his hot dogs contained no pork. Even so, Ryouga just couldn't bring himself to eat it, but he hadn't minded when she'd tried.

Ira shook his head vigorously. "No, it's all beef." Ranko's smile returned. "Why? You're not keeping kosher, are you?" He grinned.

Ranko's reply was a blank look. "Kosher?"

"Never mind. So why no pork?"

"Well… It's just…" she bit her lip, and Ira thought she looked surprisingly flummoxed for such a simple question. "I had a, umm, pet pig once I love… loved very much, so…" She blushed.

"Ah." He nodded. "Shall we?"

They pushed their way inside, and were greeted by a throng of people and a cacophony of voices. The staff behind the counters was in constant motion, taking and filling orders in rapid succession and adding their own contribution to the general pandemonium. With so many people carrying on so many conversations in such a confined space, there was a considerable din. The place was cramped, with large plastic fruit hung from the ceiling.

Ranko knew immediately that Ira had been here before: eyes behind the counter widened in recognition, and smiles spread over the faces of several of the employees, even though no one called out his name. Ira took a number from a dispenser—27—and they waited their turn.

She wondered what one should talk about with the world's foremost violinist when you were standing in line with him to buy hot dogs and having to nearly shout to be heard. She looked up at him. "How long have you been coming here?"

"Since they opened—1972." Ira looked thunderstruck. "My God, that's 32 years now, isn't it?" He had a faraway look on his face for a few moments. "I just felt like walking up Broadway one day after a long practice, and I found it by accident." He smiled. "I've been a regular ever since, whenever I can make it."

"Do you spend a lot of time in New York?"

The faraway look returned. "I was born and raised here. Things were very different back when I was a kid, but it's still New York." His eyes focused again. "Once I started performing, though, I spent a lot of time on the road." He smiled down at her. "How about you? Born and raised in Tokyo?"

She nodded. "Yes, but I… my father and I traveled a lot during my childhood. I… settled down when I was in high school." She sighed, and looked around.

He raised an unkempt eyebrow. "Homesick?"

She shook her head. "Not so much that. I miss my family, my fiancé." She drooped slightly.

Ira was quiet for a few moments, then offered, "I understand. It's hard, being on the road. I missed more of Annie's and George's childhoods than I should have."

A familiar fear slithered through Ranko's heart. At first, the very thought of being a mother had terrified her; her upbringing as a boy had left her totally unprepared for the notion of bearing children. But after she'd subdued that fear—and had begun to look forward to starting a family—another had arisen to take its place: having to leave her family behind frequently while she traveled to further her career. And she knew that the better she was, the more she would travel.

Her anxiety must have been plain on her face, for Ira added with a kindly tone, "That's just the way things were back then. Things are different now, and it doesn't have to be that way for you. A lot of the younger artists nowadays seem to do a better job than I did balancing career and family." Their gazes met, and in that moment he wasn't the great Ira Zoll, but simply a colleague with whom she shared the joys and sorrows of their profession… and a friend.

Ira's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "So tell me about this fiancé of yours."

As if a floodgate had been opened, Ranko found herself growing garrulous, telling him about Ryouga, her sisters, her parents, and everyone else in her life back home. The end of the year had finally arrived, and she'd be seeing her loved ones in less that a week; eager anticipation colored every word. She almost didn't notice when their turn was called.

A tall, teenaged boy, with blond hair in a ponytail and one pierced ear, was just starting to ask for their order—while giving Ranko a poorly concealed once-over—when a heavy-set middle-aged man with thick, salt-and-pepper hair came up behind him. "I'll take care of these customers, Jason." The teenager, confused and not a little disappointed, nodded and moved aside, as the man offered a friendly smile to Ira. "It's been a while since you've been here, sir." He turned his smile to Ranko. "And I see you brought a very pretty friend." Ranko blushed slightly.

Ira nodded. "My daughter doesn't like me to eat here. She says it's bad for me." He winked. "My student here was my unwitting accomplice today." Ranko smiled uncertainly, as she wondered exactly how much trouble she'd gotten herself into.

"Good for you," offered the middle-aged man. "Live life, I say. What'll it be today?"

Ira's eyes twinkled. "Two franks and a root beer."

The man nodded and called out the order in a loud voice. "And you, Miss?"

Ranko turned briefly to look at the large crowd milling behind her; she didn't want to have to wait again. "I'd like six hot dogs, please. And a jumbo orange juice."

Ira and his friend behind the counter blinked. "Six…?" repeated the man.

Ranko nodded. "Yes, please."

He stared at her for a long moment, then smiled. "A hungry young lady. Six it is." He called out her order in the same way. "Don't come crying to me if you can't finish them, though." He winked. "Are you going to eat this here?"

Ira frowned. "It's too cold today to eat outside, and I don't want to stand up while we eat." He looked at his watch. "If we hustle, we can get back, eat, and dispose of the evidence before my daughter is back from lunch." He grinned conspiratorially. "Put it in a bag."

A few moments later, order in hand, they headed out the door. As they crossed Verdi Square towards the subway entrance, Ranko asked hesitantly, "Is your daughter going to be upset?"

Ira laughed. "Just a little—if she finds out. Don't worry, it's not you she'll be upset with. Annie's being a little… overprotective these days." His expression sobered slightly, then brightened again. "She's a good kid." His eyes took on the faraway look again. "We eventually caught up on the time we missed together."

He looked like he was about to say more when they heard a voice. "Excuse me." They turned to find a middle-aged woman peering at Ira's face.

He put on a carefully arranged polite smile. "Yes?"

The woman smiled. "Has anyone ever told you you look just like Ira Zoll, the violinist?"

Ira's smile grew more genuine as Ranko slapped her hand over her mouth. "I can't say I hear it too often."

* * *

><p>"Dad, you're not wearing your muffler properly…" Ira Zoll wore a look of long-suffering endurance as his daughter set about wrapping his scarf a little more tightly.<p>

Ranko wasn't sure if the rumble she heard was coming from Ira or from the limousine idling in the underground driveway. She and Professors Vincent and Vasilev were gathered to bid the maestro and his daughter farewell; the limo was waiting to whisk them to the airport. They were leaving from an underground entrance to have a little privacy and to not have to shout.

The faint sounds of outside traffic echoed down the tunnel, amplified by the bare concrete walls. There was bright sunlight outside, though you'd never know it: harsh sodium lights lit the scene. Ranko wished they could have been elsewhere; the bleak surroundings were not helping her mood any.

"Annie, I played in Siberia once," fumed Ira. "Do you know how cold it is in Siberia? This is nothing." Ranko shivered and made a mental note to never visit Siberia.

His daughter smiled as she fussed. "You weren't 86 when you played in Siberia." Ira rolled his eyes, and Ranko and her professors couldn't help smiling. "There."

Anne stepped aside, and Professor Vincent came up to give the elderly man a gentle embrace. "Ira, it's always a pleasure to see you, and your visits are a tremendous help to the students. Thank you. Please come again soon."

The pixie eyes twinkled. "The pleasure is all mine, Irene. I just love hanging around with other young people." He winked, and they all laughed. Ranko felt her mood lighten; there was sunshine here, underground or not.

It was Professor Vasilev's turn, and his goodbye hug was as fierce as his welcoming one. He let go, but kept his hand on his friend's arm. "Ira, I hope it won't be quite so long before we see you again."

Ira glanced at Ranko as he replied. "It won't. There's a special student I need to keep a close eye on." Ranko's cheeks reddened.

Peter nodded, smiling. "Thank you for all the time you've given her."

Ira shook his head, serious for once. "I just wish I could have spared more than a couple of days." His eyes went to Ranko again, and stayed there. "Though we did make the most of them."

The young redhead approached the old man as Peter stepped back. She craned her neck a bit as she looked up at him. "It was an honor working with you, Ira. Thank you for spending so much time with me, and encouraging me so much."

He regarded her soberly. "I was quite serious, my dear. I wish I could spend more time with you now, and I intend to make time in my schedule later this year to come back." He shook his head. "I've never seen a student who can pick up technique the way you can. Never. You have a true gift, and a teacher can't ask for more than to help such a talent develop." She blushed deeply and looked down, and Ira chided gently, "Come, come, now, no need to be so modest."

She fought down her blush and looked up, to find Ira's arms open and a smile on his face. Smiling herself, she stepped up to him, and they embraced, Ranko's cheek pressed against his chest. His voice rumbled pleasantly in her ear, full of warmth. "Goodbye, Ranko."

Somehow, it didn't feel at all like saying goodbye to someone she'd met only the day before, and there was a sudden wetness in her eyes. "Goodbye, Ira…"

He held her out at arm's length. "Have fun back home with your family, OK?"

She smiled brightly. "I will. I've been looking forward to it all semester."

Anne cleared her throat. "Dad, I hate to play the villain, but our plane…"

"Right you are, Annie." He squeezed Ranko's shoulder. "I'll be back soon. You keep working." He waggled a finger, a broad grin on his face.

She nodded earnestly. "I will."

He released her, took one last look around, and climbed into the limousine; his daughter got in on the other side. The car started to pull out, and Ira opened his window to wave, looking for all the world like a little boy on his first trip. All three of them waved back, and Ranko found her eyes growing wet again.

The car rolled down the tunnel, and disappeared around a curve as it rose towards ground level; Ranko watched sadly all the while.

Professor Vincent smiled. "He's a very special man, isn't he?" Ranko just nodded. "He has a lot of faith in you."

A quiet smile stole onto Ranko's face. She'd been hoping for a solution to her problems, but somehow… this was even better. "I know."

* * *

><p>Ranko balanced her tray on her right hand as she slid her ID card back into her purse with her left. Her attention was on neither action, but rather engaged in scanning the noisy, crowded cafeteria for a table. Her eyes stopped on a familiar sight, and she smiled. Jean-Pierre was waving from a table next to one of the large plate glass windows; the wan, cold sunshine from the plaza outside washed across his face. She waved back.<p>

She weaved her way around tables and other students and slid into the orange plastic chair across from her practice partner, laying the tray with her double helping of stew on the table. "Hi, Jean-Pierre! I haven't seen you for a while; I thought you went home already."

He shook his head as he scooped another spoonful of soup. "No, I leave tonight. First Paris, then a two hour train ride." He looked up and grinned. "It's not too late to keep me company on the way, babe."

Ranko half-snorted, half-laughed as she arranged her napkin in her lap. "You won't give up, will you?"

Jean-Pierre raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, "Of course not. As a Frenchman, I cannot give up. They would revoke my citizenship." He continue working on his soup.

She laughed in spite of herself. "I see. Well, I'm not going with you. It's already bad you flirt with me all the time; with your father it's too much." She winked as she started in on her lunch. There was no reply, and she looked up to find him looking distracted.

She ran her mind back over her words, wondering what she'd said, and her brow suddenly knit. "Jean-Pierre, you _are _going to see your father, right?"

He took a moment longer to answer than she would have expected. "Yes, of course. Why else would I be traveling so far?" He smiled without warmth and took another spoonful of soup.

Ranko's mind flew back to the first time she'd met the elder Laurent, and the argument she'd overheard between them. She wondered if the relationship between them was so bad that Jean-Pierre was reluctant to see his father, and wished she knew enough French to understand what they'd been saying. There was a lot going on here that Jean-Pierre was keeping to himself, and she was starting to worry about him.

While she'd been very closed emotionally when she was Ranma, that had been from the need to hide her own feelings—from her… himself most of all. Her natural disposition was to wear her heart on her sleeve. That, together with her past, had left her a little clueless about more subtle signs of others' feelings, about which she was still the occasional target of good-natured teasing from Akane.

Still, she'd improved a lot over the last five years, and you didn't exactly need to be a genius to pick up on the signals coming from Jean-Pierre. She'd thought him a carefree, obnoxious playboy when they first met, but hadn't felt that way in a long time. He was a friend; a vexing friend, to be sure, but a friend nonetheless. And he had a thorn in his side, that much she could tell.

"Well…" she ventured, pausing in indecision and then continuing, "Would you please say hello to him from me?" She watched for his reaction.

He looked up from his soup, the rakish grin plastered back on his face. "Don't you want to tell him yourself?" He didn't quite wink.

Ranko sighed inwardly. As Ranma, she had used sullenness and insults to keep people away; Jean-Pierre used flirting and verbal fencing. A cardinal rule in martial arts was to not telegraph your moves to your opponent, but in social venues she was still a clumsy beginner: Jean-Pierre had read her clearly and parried. Kasumi was a master at this, but Ranko had years of catching up to do. She'd hoped to help if she could… maybe another day.

"No, thank you," she said primly, lifting a forkful of stew. "But please tell him for me."

Jean-Pierre nodded. "Of course." His eyes widened slightly as he noticed for the first time just how much food she had on her plate. "Speaking of older men, how did things go with your private lessons? I've been anxious to find out." He grinned.

The double-entendre was lost on Ranko, and a bright smile lit her face. "Oh, do you mean Ira? He was wonderful! He helped me on many of my techniques. I was very lucky; he spent a lot of time with me when he was here."

Jean-Pierre was lucky himself; Ranko's attention was on her lunch, and she missed the affectionate smile that he didn't stifle quite fast enough. He schooled his features and waved his spoon. "Yes, yes, that's all good, but what about your expressiveness? Did he have an idea?"

Ranko's smile dimmed and her shoulders slumped slightly. "Well… no, not really. He didn't know what is causing my problem." She poked at her stew with her fork.

Jean-Pierre sucked air through his teeth, all thoughts of teasing having fled. "Ah, that's bad. He's got a real talent for spotting students' problems. I was sure…" He shook his head slowly. "Did he have anything to say?"

Ranko nodded. "Yes, he believes I can be expressive. He says that there's a 'there' there, and he thinks I have it inside of me." She shrugged. "He had no ideas about how I could help it get out, though." She started eating again.

Jean-Pierre leaned back, his soup forgotten for the moment. "Well, still, that's good, that's good. He can see your talent, and his opinion means a lot with the faculty. That will help."

Ranko nodded as she chewed and swallowed. "Yes, it will help Professor Vasilev with the pressure from other faculty. I'm happy about that. He took a risk for me, to bring me here."

Jean-Pierre seemed filled with nervous energy, and more than a little distracted. His head nodded up and down slowly and he spoke half to himself. "I knew it! I knew someone like him could see your potential." His eyes focused on her, intent. "He did not have the answer, but you must not give up, yes? If the soul of your music is trapped inside, you must set it free. This great man sees it there, and it would be a crime to leave it imprisoned."

Ranko didn't smile at Jean-Pierre's melodramatic way of putting things, because he had a point, couched though it was in Kunouesque sentiments. She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth.

She'd been struggling with her expressiveness for three or four years now. If she'd been lacking in self-confidence, she would have been beaten down a long time ago. Thank God Akane and Nabiki had helped her deal with _that _issue early, before the pressure really came to bear. Still, she'd been so sure someone here at Juilliard would have the answer, would know what to do; so sure that here, she'd finally lick it.

But with a long line of experts, culminating in Ira Zoll, telling her they didn't have a clue what was wrong, there was nothing left to pin her hopes on. There wasn't a next thing to try, another rabbit to pull out of her hat. Logically, she should be thinking about changing the focus of her career.

But she wasn't, and Jean-Pierre had helped crystallize the reason behind why she didn't feel that way. Those same experts, Professor Murata and Professor Vasilev and Jari Hajek and _Ira Zoll _and yes, even Jean-Pierre: they all believed in her, believed that she had what it took. And thanks to Juilliard and these wonderful people, _she _could still believe in herself, without thinking she'd crossed the line from self-confidence into delusion.

They couldn't help her fix her problem, but they could help her believe in herself. And that was something she needed, no matter how things turned out. Somehow, _Saotome Ranko believes in herself _was much more important to her than _Saotome Ranko doesn't lose_.

She set her fork down, and looked him in the eye. "Thank you." She smiled, her eyes crinkling.

He seemed caught off-guard; all he could manage was, "Eh? What for?

"For being a person who believes in me. Because of you and Ira Zoll and other people, I can believe in myself, so I don't feel like giving up. While I believe in myself, I can keep trying. So thank you."

Jean-Pierre smiled back. Not a smirk or a leer, but a genuine smile, his eyes radiating warmth, approval, and other emotions she didn't want to think about. That smile, so unlike the one he usually gave her, caught her unawares; her heart skipped a beat. His music was in his eyes, and it was the kind of music that filled your sails and took you someplace far, far away. Words deserted her.

She couldn't tear her gaze away, and felt a growing need to fill the silence that was saying something she did not want to say. What she finally blurted out was, "I'm going home to Japan tomorrow."

The spell was broken; Jean-Pierre dropped his eyes, and after a long moment spent regarding his spoon, quietly picked it up again, stirred his soup once, and resumed eating. "Ah. Please give my regards to your family." He seemed to want to say something more, but ultimately didn't. Ranko felt horribly confused and horribly guilty, and had no idea why. Her eyes dropped into her lap.

There was an awkward pause of a different sort, and she grasped at the conversational thread, desperate to restore some semblance of normality. "Thank you, Jean-Pierre. I… I will." She picked up her fork, and said brightly, "My roommate Tish Williams is going along with me." She started working on her lunch again, studying it far more than it deserved.

"Oh, I see," said Jean-Pierre in mock indignation. "And why is she invited and not me?"

He sounded more like his old self, and Ranko dared to look up. He seemed OK, so she smiled a little. "Because she never hits on me."

Jean-Pierre grinned, and Ranko felt better.

* * *

><p>"Ta daaa!" announced Tish from the front door, one hand on the doorknob and the other using a potholder to hold aloft a small covered baking dish. "It's all ready. I'm sorry I took so long; someone else was using the microwave and I had to wait my turn."<p>

"Oh Lord, you weren't kiddin', were you?" wondered Megan Johnson. "You're really gonna do this?"

Ranko glanced sideways at Megan, her expression dead serious. "I never joke about food." She waved Tish over, and her roommate sat down next to her on the sofa, laying the potholder on the coffee table and the dish on top of that. "How much did you make?"

Tish pulled the lid off the dish, and steam curled up from the contents; she snatched her hand away. "About a cup. It should be enough." She waved at the steam with the lid in her hand.

Ranko opened the box in front of her, revealing a large Alfie's pizza. The other girls paused from eating their own pizza to watch, mesmerized, as Tish proceeded to drop spoonful after spoonful of freshly microwaved kernels of corn all over the pie.

"This feels kind of like desecration," observed Hannah Bennett. "You know, like walking on the flag or something." Susan Burnes snorted, and Flora Ho and Harya Prakash looked at each other and shrugged.

Tish rolled her eyes but said nothing. When she was done, she and Ranko surveyed her handiwork, then each picked up a slice and took a big bite. They chewed for a while.

"It's not bad," offered Ranko. "It's a little strange, but it's not bad."

Tish tilted her head slightly. "It's still missing something." She and Ranko looked at each other and smiled. "You think?" Ranko nodded, and got up.

The redhead disappeared into the room she and Tish shared. They heard the sound of a small refrigerator door opening and closing; Ranko returned holding a plastic squeeze bottle.

"No," whimpered Megan.

"I think I'm going to be sick," announced Anne Raffo. Hannah nodded vigorous agreement.

Ranko sniffed. "Don't criticize something if you haven't tried it." She held the bottle of mayonnaise upside down over the two slices they'd taken and squeezed a few squiggles onto each piece. Once again she and Tish each took a bite, then chewed thoughtfully for a while. Hannah put her own slice of pizza down and stared at it forlornly.

Tish nodded her head, satisfied. "It's still a little off; the sauce here is different. But it's pretty good."

"Yes, I think so," agreed Ranko, and proceeded to squeeze mayonnaise onto the rest of the pie in thin, looping stripes.

"Couldn't y'all have waited to get home to eat… corn and mayonnaise pizza?" asked Megan plaintively, her voice a wan shadow of its usual energetic self.

Ranko blinked. "Why wait? It's so _good_." She waved at their pie. "Want to try some?"

Megan lay down her own slice of pizza, swallowing heavily. "No, thank you."

"I'm game," offered Susan. "Can you spare half a slice?" Ranko nodded and started cutting one of the large slices in two.

Megan stared at her roommate. "You're kiddin', right?"

"Megan, dear," crooned Susan, "you need to broaden your horizons. I'm going to bring you back some haggis."

Megan's eyes narrowed. "What's haggis?"

Susan smiled a positively enigmatic smile. "It tastes so much better if you don't know." She reached out and took the half slice of pizza from Ranko's outstretched hand. She eyed it for a moment, then took a bite. She chewed for a while, an odd expression on her face. "How… interesting." Megan stifled a giggle. "Is this your favorite?"

Ranko looked off to one side for a moment, thinking. "Well… I wouldn't say it was my favorite. I like it, but I like okonomiyaki better."

Hannah scrunched up her face in confusion. "What's oko… okoko…?"

"Okonomiyaki," responded Tish. "It's kind of like a cross between an omelette, a pizza, and a pancake. I love it, too." She grinned. "Ranko here is the real connoisseur, though. She has a friend who runs an okonomiyaki restaurant."

Ranko sighed wistfully. "She makes the best okonomiyaki I've ever eaten. She used to live nearby, but she moved back to Kyoto two years ago to be close to her family." She laughed. "She still refuses to tell me her secret recipes, so now I must get by with restaurants that are not as good, and what I can make myself. Actually, my okonomiyaki is not bad, though it's not as good as Ucchan's. Oh, that's my friend, Ku… Ukyou Kuonji."

Susan was grinning. "Yes, I can tell that you're fond of… of whatever you called it. Is that one of the things you're looking forward to?"

Ranko smiled and nodded. "Yes, but mostly to seeing my family and friends. And my fiancé. It will be nice to be home." Everyone chorused their agreement. "What are you looking forward to, Susan?"

"Not the weather, of that you may be certain," replied Susan, and everyone laughed. "Well, just spending Christmas with my family, and seeing home again. Having real tea with meals instead of this Lipton rubbish you can't escape here."

Harya piped up, "Yes, good tea will be very nice. It will be nice to be warm, too, and to see my family. But…"

"What is wrong, Harya?" asked Flora.

Harya sighed. "My parents have been a little… evasive recently on the phone. I think there is something they're not telling me."

Everyone turned to the diminutive oboist, concerned. "What do you mean, Harya?" asked Megan.

Harya frowned. "Well, I told them I made first oboe in the orchestra this year, and that if I kept it up I could get a seat with a good orchestra when I graduate. They were happy and proud, but… it seemed as if it wasn't getting through to them. As if their minds were on something else." She bit her lip. "I'm worried my grandmother is ill again, and they're not telling me. She's not very old, only sixty-four, but she's not in good health." She stared at her lap.

Flora patted Harya's hand. "I'm sure your grandmother will feel much better when she sees you." A tentative smile broke out on Harya's face.

After a moment the petite Indian woman looked up. "Thanks, everyone, I'm sure things will be fine. What about you, Flora? What are you looking forward to?"

Flora smiled. "Well, Chinese New Year is not for month or two, but I look forward going home very much. I miss my family. Megan, what about you?"

The blonde grinned. "Is it my turn? Family, Christmas. And barbecue." After a moment, her eyes unfocused, and the smile dimmed slightly. "If I'm lucky I won't run into Ed."

Hannah frowned for a moment. "Oh, the gorilla? Your ex-boyfriend?" She mimicked an ape, scratching herself and screeching.

Megan laughed, her good humor returning. "Yeah, that's him. Calluses on his knuckles." She turned to Tish. "How about you, Tish? You're goin' to Tokyo with Ranko tomorrow, but you're takin' two different planes, right?"

Ranko and Tish exchanged glances and grinned. "Actually," said Tish, "I was on a different flight on a different airline, because I couldn't get on the same flight as Ranko. But a couple of days ago, when she told Eimi Taneoka about it—you remember her, right?—and that I'd be waiting at Narita for twelve hours for Ranko's flight, Eimi just smiled and pulled out her cell phone, and ten minutes later I was on the same plane." She shook her head.

"Wow," said Hannah. "It's nice to have a friend who works for an airline. Is she going to be on your flight?"

Ranko shook her head. "No, she returned to Tokyo yesterday, and this year she will be getting a vacation the week before New Year's. She promised to visit while we're in Tokyo."

"You gals just gonna hang out while you're there?" Megan grinned. "Doin' Japanese stuff?"

Tish raised an eyebrow. "'Japanese stuff'?"

"You know, Carry-oakie and watchin' sumo and that kinda thing."

Tish laughed. "Definitely no on the sumo, and they'd better have earplugs if they ask me to sing."

Ranko blinked. Had Megan meant _karaoke_? Probably. She wondered silently how _karaoke _could become "Carry-oakie." Listening to Japanese words that had made their way into English was a lot like that parallel world she'd visited: very familiar, but mutated in odd ways. She imagined that the English words adopted into Japanese must sound the same to American ears.

Ranko refocused on the conversation as Tish continued, "We'll be celebrating New Year's, and Ranko has some wedding things to catch up on."

The redhead rolled her eyes and nodded. "I have to shop for bridesmaid's dresses and visit the woman who is making my wedding kimono."

Anne's eyes were wide with excitement. "That sounds wonderful! I've never been to Japan. Are you going to do any sightseeing?"

Tish smiled. "No, I've seen most of the sights already. I lived there for eight years." Her smile faded slowly and her eyes were very far away. Her roommates looked on, confused—except for Ranko.

"Is there something else?" asked Susan tentatively.

Everyone was quiet as Tish paused a moment before replying. "Well…" she offered slowly, "I… I was also hoping to look up some friends from when I lived there." She said it casually, but her eyes lent it far more weight than her tone implied. The mood grew sober.

Megan said softly, "Good luck, Tish. I hope you find what you're lookin' for."

* * *

><p>"Ranko." A hand shook her shoulder.<p>

Though she was asleep, her brain assessed the touch in an instant—gentle and nonthreatening—thereby saving whoever it was from a broken arm. Ranko's eyes flickered open, and she tried to reply, though what came out was "Ungh." Where… where was she? Her eyes focused, and Tish's face came into view. Her mind started to clear, and assimilated the noises of a busy airliner cabin.

"Mmmph…" She rubbed her eyes. "How long have I been asleep?" She'd wanted to stay awake to help reset her body's clock, but she'd been so tired…

"About three hours." Tish smiled and gestured with her head. "Look out the window."

The redhead leaned across her companion and peered out the tiny window. She saw nothing but a sea of thick white clouds illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, and was about to ask what there was to see, when she spotted it: a shallow, perfect, truncated cone just peeking through the clouds. She took a few moments to savor the view, and felt a sudden pang of homesickness. She sat back down in her own seat. "Mount Fuji." Tish grinned, and Ranko smiled herself. "Welcome home, Tish."

The tall black woman didn't say anything, but turned to look out the window once more. Ranko wished she could look too, but she'd lost the game of "jan-ken-pon" for the window seat.

After a while, Tish turned back. "Sorry to hog the window; there isn't anything more to see now, just clouds. I should have given you a longer look." She looked back at the traces of cloud that were starting to race past the window. "I guess we'll be landing in just a few minutes. Do you know who's going to be meeting us?"

Ranko's heart started to beat a little faster. "Akane didn't say. I'm sure she'll be there, and Ryouga, and probably my mother. Beyond that I don't know." She closed her eyes momentarily. _Just a few more minutes…_

The plane shook slightly, and then again, harder. The seatbelt signal sounded, and the PA system came on. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the captain. I've turned on the seatbelt sign a little early. The Kantou area is experiencing thunderstorms and high winds at the moment, and the ride will be a little bumpy. Please stay in your seats with your seatbelts fastened for the remainder of the flight." He repeated the warning in English, and Ranko marveled that this time she could understand it both ways.

The plane shook again, hard, and Tish swallowed heavily. She turned to look at the horizontal streaks of rain that were racing across the window glass, then quickly closed her eyes. "I shouldn't have turned my head like that." She slowly turned her head back, her eyes still closed. "I hate rough landings." She sighed. "I hope your family brought some umbrellas. It looks like it's pouring out." She cocked her head slightly. "I'm sorry, did you just say something? I didn't quite catch it."

"No… not really."

* * *

><p>Ranko and Tish inclined their heads to the customs inspector, who returned the courtesy. The two young women headed for the exit, luggage in hand; since it was just a two week trip, that consisted of a few bags rather than the giant trunk Ranko had lugged to New York. Her heart felt like an excited dog bouncing around the house in anticipation of being let out. There was a pair of large doors a few paces in front of them, and on the other side of that…<p>

Tish took in her roommate's expression and grinned. "I think I'm looking forward to this almost as much as you are." Ranko blushed slightly and laughed.

Through the doors, to the left around the security barrier, and… there was a mob scene. Hundreds of people thronged the arrival lobby at Narita, milling about like tigers pacing their cages and peering anxiously at them and all the other arriving passengers pouring out of the customs area. Ranko imagined that this must be what a zoo exhibit felt like.

She was struck by how quiet and orderly this crowd was compared to the streets of New York, though the linoleum floor and hard walls amplified what noise there was, and the PA system periodically blared forth with this landing or that cancellation. She also couldn't help noticing that many of the people she saw looked to be on the wet side.

She peered right back at them, searching the throng for a familiar face. On the one hand, she hoped to spot a yellow-and-black bandanna, but on the other she didn't look forward to having to explain "Ryouko-chan" or "Mr. Panda" before they'd even left the airport. If either of them had come, she couldn't imagine how they could have navigated the weather outside without triggering their curses.

She put those thoughts aside as they moved out into the middle of the floor, craning their necks to scan the terminal. "Do you see them?" asked Tish.

Ranko slowly swiveled her head around. "To be honest… I can't see much of anything at the moment. There are too many people and they're all taller than me." She could jump, of course; that would let her get a good view. Aside from causing a scene, however, it would be a tad difficult not to land on someone's head in a crowd like this. "Do you know what they look like?"

Tish bit her lip. "Well, I think… wait a minute… there! About fifteen meters that way." She pointed. "I remember that bandanna. And I think that's your sister with him."

"Ryouga and Akane…" Ranko's heart beat even faster; a loud thunderclap sounded outside, and her mood dimmed slightly. Water was splattering against the plate glass windows of the arrival lobby in huge, fat droplets, like little water balloons dropped by a bratty god-child; though it was still early evening, it was very dark outside. _At least she said 'him.' He's made it this far._

Meanwhile, Tish was waving energetically at the pair she had spotted; they were weathering the flow of people in the still backwater next to a pillar. She had a great deal of difficulty catching their attention; several times they looked directly at her, but their gaze moved on without stopping. Finally she said, "Come on… they can't see you and they don't recognize me, so let's head over there." The two of them started making their way through the crowd, which was no small feat, especially with their luggage.

As they got closer, Ranko could make out not just Akane and Ryouga, but her mother and Kasumi as well. As her family's eyes made contact and lit up in recognition, an enormous smile spread over her face, a smile she could not have suppressed even if she had wanted to.

She couldn't wait any longer; she lay down her luggage where she stood, even her violin, and darted through the crowd, closing the remaining few meters in an instant. All she saw was a pair of open arms waiting for her… and then her face was nestled in his chest, and his arms were tight around her. "Ryouga…" she sighed softly.

His eyes were closed, an expression of utter bliss on his face, which was nestled on top of her head. "Welcome home." She tilted her head up, and their lips met in a modest kiss—they were in the middle of an airport terminal, after all. It seemed both far too short, and as if time had stood still; when she pulled away, her eyes were wet. Akane, Kasumi, and her mother were all hovering and waiting their turn, each overjoyed in their own way.

Ranko looked around, her face still set in a wide smile, despite the tears. "Sis…" She let go of Ryouga and hugged Akane fiercely, an embrace as fiercely returned. "Mother… Oneechan…" Words failed her momentarily, and tears were streaming down her face. She swallowed; her throat hurt. "Oh, gods, how I've missed you all." She laughed even as she cried; Akane was in a similar state, and the two embraced again.

She went to her mother next; the older woman smiled quietly as she held her daughter tight. "You know, Dear," said Nodoka, her voice cracking slightly, "I thought that after twelve years a few months would be nothing, but I was wrong." Ranko nodded silently into her mother's embrace.

Kasumi lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Welcome home, imouto-chan. I've missed you." Ranko, still in her mother's embrace, reached up to her shoulder and gripped Kasumi's hand tightly, getting a firm squeeze in return.

With a happy sigh, she released her mother and took another look round at all of them. "It's so wonderful to _be _home." She sniffled and wiped at her eyes; she felt nearly overcome. "Oh…"

Akane patted the redhead's shoulder comfortingly as she wiped her own eyes. She turned to look around at the crowd. "Sis, where's your roommate? I thought you said she was on the same plane."

For a brief moment, panic seized Ranko's heart, yanking it out of the warm place it had just settled into. Had she managed to lose Tish? "What? She was just… oh, she's right over there." She headed off towards a tall black woman standing nearby, who was smiling at the scene while trying to ride herd on the pile of luggage at her feet. Ryouga followed to lend a hand.

Akane's eyes bulged slightly as she watched Ranko and Ryouga help carry the luggage over. While she'd heard a description of Tish from Ranko months earlier, somehow, she'd still had an image in her mind of a Japanese woman. She found it hard to connect the person she'd spoken to on the phone with the person before her now, a tall, willowy, black giantess. Akane was tall for a Japanese woman, but Tish was quite a bit taller.

"Everyone," said Ranko as they rejoined the group, "this is my roommate."

They all watched as Tish executed a perfect bow, and said politely, "My name is Tish Williams. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance." Ranko watched her family's faces grow slack, and remembered her reaction when she'd first heard Tish speak Japanese.

Nodoka was the first to recover. "I'm Saotome Nodoka, Tissue-san. Thank you for being such a good friend to my daughter. I'm sure she was a handful." She smiled and bowed herself.

Ranko blinked; she'd developed enough of an ear for English that she hadn't even noticed how much the Japanese pronunciation of Tish's name sounded like… "Mother, it's 'Tish,' not 'Tissue.'"

Nodoka's cheeks reddened. "I am so sorry, Tissue… Tisshu-san." She laughed, embarrassed. "I have to admit that I have a lot of trouble with foreign names…"

Tish waved her hand back and forth. "It's quite all right, Saotome-san, I'm used to it. That's why my friends all used to call me 'T-chan.'" She noticed that Ranko's fiancé cringed slightly, but couldn't imagine why. "Your daughter wasn't any trouble at all; on the contrary, she's been a wonderful friend to me." She bowed again. "Thank you for inviting me into your home during the holidays."

Nodoka blushed again. "Please call me Auntie, Tisshu-san. Actually, you _are _welcome to visit my home, but Ranko is currently living with the Tendou family…"

Akane stepped in smoothly. "I'm Tendou Akane, Tish-san. I'm very pleased to meet you." As she bowed, Akane gathered from Ranko's relieved expression that she'd pronounced the name correctly; it must be thanks to her English classes at college.

She straightened from her bow and smiled. "Such a good friend to my sister is welcome in our home any time." Tish bowed in return.

Kasumi nodded her head and bowed as well. "I'm Tendou Kasumi, Tish-san. I'm Ranko and Akane's older sister. It's a pleasure to have you here."

Tish returned the formality. "Thank you, Tendou-san. I understand you're to become a doctor. Congratulations; your family must be very proud."

Kasumi smiled radiantly. "Thank you. And please, call me Kasumi."

Ryouga was next; he inclined his head. "Hibiki Ryouga, Tisshu-san. Nice to meet you." He put an arm around Ranko and squeezed. "Thank you for taking such good care of her." Ranko leaned her head against his shoulder and smiled up at him.

Tish beamed. "It's very nice to meet you, too, and you're very welcome." She smiled. "I've heard an awful lot about you—about all of you." Her eyes lingered on Ryouga for a moment, then took in the rest of them. _Well… I have to admit they seem pretty normal to me, and very nice, too. Daddy's right, I have an overactive imagination._

"I'm sure the two of you must be positively exhausted, so why don't we head home?" asked Kasumi solicitously. "We can chat some more on the way."

There was another loud thunderclap, and the noise of the rain against the windows became more intense, making sharp little noises like a string of firecrackers. All eyes in the party turned towards the water that was sluicing down the outside of the glass.

"We came through that on the way down," said Tish, shivering slightly and pulling her long camel coat about her a little more tightly. "I guess we're going to get a little wet on the way home."

Ryouga shook his head. "No need." He held some tickets up and waved them. "We came on the Narita Express. A little pricey, but the station is underground at both ends." He grinned, then looked down at Ranko and winked. She grinned and winked back.

"Oh, _thank _you," breathed Tish with heartfelt gratitude. "I wasn't looking forward to waiting for a bus in this weather."

"Shall we?" offered Nodoka, and they all collected the luggage and headed for the stairs leading to the underground station for the trains that served the airport.

Kasumi and Nodoka were interrogating Tish—oh so politely, of course—and so Ranko took the opportunity to hang back with Ryouga and Akane. Ryouga had his arm draped around her shoulders, and her arm was around his waist. "Ryouga… won't we have to take the Yamanote line? The platform is above ground." She blinked. "Oh wait, the subway…"

Ryouga nodded. "Right. We can take the Marunouchi line from Tokyo station to Ikebukuro, and the Ikebukuro line platform is enclosed." They started heading down the stairs.

"But how are we going to get home from Fuurinkan-cho station?"

Akane giggled. "We took a taxi to the station when we left. It's a bit of a splurge, but I think we'd go for it on a night like tonight even if we didn't have 'Ryouko' to worry about. I guess we'll have to take two on the way back."

"But from the cab to the door…"

Ryouga reached back and patted his backpack. "Heavy rain gear, including goggles, a collapsible umbrella, and a mini-thermos full of hot water."

Ranko shook her head slowly. "Wow… you guys thought of everything."

Ryouga gave her another squeeze, which sent a pleasant shiver through her. "There was no way I was gonna miss seeing you as soon as you got off that plane, even if I had to swim to get here." She squeezed him back, her eyes the only reply necessary. She definitely planned to follow up that pitiful excuse for a kiss with something much better later on…

They reached the platform in the second basement, and Kasumi and Nodoka continued to pepper Tish and Ranko with questions about life at Juilliard and in New York for the ten minutes it took their train to arrive. There was a short wait, after which the silver doors slid open; they filed inside. Tish felt a little relieved when she found herself in a set of four facing seats with Ranko, Akane, and Ryouga. The seats were very comfortable; in fact, both Ranko and Tish yawned prodigiously soon after sitting down.

Ryouga smiled. "Tired?"

Tish nodded sleepily. "I don't even want to think about what time it is in New York." She yawned again.

After a few moments, the PA system came on with a prerecorded announcement. "Welcome to the Narita Express. We will depart momentarily for Tokyo Station. Please make sure—"

They never found out what they were supposed to make sure of, as the PA system was cut off when the train and the station were plunged into complete darkness.

* * *

><p><em>I really, really didn't want to wait for a bus in this weather<em>. Tish clutched at her coat in misery, shivering to try to keep warm.

Not only were they having to wait for a bus, they were having to wait quite a while. The direct lightning strike on a station transformer had put the station and all incoming and outgoing trains out of commission. Emergency lights had come on to dispel the darkness after a few scary moments; after about ten minutes of confusion Japan Rail employees with bullhorns had made the announcement that the damage could not be repaired right away. All passengers were to be taken by bus to the town of Narita and the JR main line, where they would board new trains.

While this plan was sound in theory, it was difficult to put into practice. Hundreds of people needed to be transported, with more piling up as new flights arrived. There had been a wait before the buses started arriving, and it had quickly become apparent that anyone who actually wanted to board one of them would have to line up—outside. With twice the number of passengers and buses as normal, the boarding area was mobbed. And of course, all of this was in the midst of a cold, wet, nasty storm. The boarding area was nominally sheltered from the elements by an overhang, but every few minutes a wet, stinging gust of wind reached in to assail the unfortunate crowd like a cloud of angry insects. In other words, it was a typical travel nightmare.

The six of them had been waiting their turn under these conditions for the past forty-five minutes. Conversation had been sparse: they all were cold, the two travelers would have fallen asleep if they hadn't been standing up, and none of them really had the energy to talk, since they'd have to shout to do so. Finally, however, they'd reached the head of the line, and would be able to board the next bus. Tish supposed it could have been much worse.

She looked around at her roommate's family. Ranko had her violin case inside her coat, not wanting a drop of water to reach the expensive instrument. She looked intensely uncomfortable; Tish knew that her small body lost heat rapidly, a fact she was acutely aware of due to her own slender build. Kasumi and Akane flanked their sister, and all three women were pressed together with arms around each other in an effort to stay a little warmer. Tish would have loved to join the huddle, but felt she was still too much of an outsider.

If Ranko's mother was cold, she did not deign to show it in her expression; she was wearing an ankle-length coat that Tish didn't think could be keeping her nearly warm enough, but her face was a study in refined patience. Tish turned to look at Ryouga…

…and shook her head again. He was wearing a hooded slicker and goggles, rubber wading pants, high boots, heavy waterproof gloves, and was holding up an umbrella, even though they were under the overhang. Every time one of those sodden gusts of wind reached them, he would expertly swing the umbrella around to defend himself, looking for all the world as if he were engaged in swordplay, and deeply unnerving their neighbors in line. This was a man who clearly did not want to get wet.

Tish thought he was being ridiculous, actually, and wondered why he wasn't trying to keep his shivering fiancée warm instead.

Her thoughts were cut short as a bus pulled up: the bus Tish knew they would finally be able to board. Ringleted angels with trumpets could not have heralded a more divine paradise than the harried-looking woman with a bullhorn who shepherded them onto the motor coach. It turned out the bus was heated, and Tish felt she had died and gone to Heaven. She sighed pleasantly as she followed Ranko down the aisle.

They had been among the last to board, and Tish didn't expect they'd be able to sit together. As it turned out, there was a cluster of empty seats all together, and with good reason: they were arrayed around an open window.

After handing her violin to her mother, Ranko yanked on the window, hard, but it wouldn't budge. She fiddled with the latch, she tugged at it, but it would not move. Tish knew that Ranko was incredibly strong, and figured it was a lost cause, but the redhead turned to her fiancé. "Do you want to try?"

Tish thought Ryouga grinned, though it was hard to tell underneath all the equipment. "Sure." He switched places with Ranko, and gave a few experimental tugs on the window. Nothing. "Oookayy…" He braced himself, gave a hard yank, and the window came free. Literally. He was holding it in his hands. "Oops."

He tried putting it back in place, but the clips that held the window in its tracks had popped out, and were nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, the attendant at the front called out, "Excuse me, but could you all please sit down? The bus is ready to leave."

Ranko put a hand on his arm. "Do you want to wait for the next bus?"

Ryouga shook his head. "No. Everyone's exhausted and cold. I'll manage." Ranko surprised Tish by sitting next to the open window herself, and Ryouga sat in the row behind, laying the window pane on the floor. Tish frowned and sat down next to Ranko; if her roommate's fiancé wasn't man enough to keep her company, at least Tish would. Akane sat next to Ryouga behind them, and Kasumi and Ranko's mother were in front of them.

Ryouga handed Ranko the umbrella over the seat, and she popped it partway open and held it against the window to block the opening, just as the bus pulled out from under the overhang. Rain immediately started lashing against the umbrella and dripping onto the floor of the bus. Ranko hurriedly shifted the umbrella so that the bottom edge hung out the window. The makeshift solution seemed to be working, although water was leaking around the edges.

The bus crept out into the traffic on the airport access road, edging its way out into a faster-moving lane. Tish had a hard time seeing out with the umbrella blocking the window, but eventually the buildings grew farther apart, and the bus left the airport. There were no streetlights to illuminate the blackness outside and no conversation among the cold and weary travelers, so Tish leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

She wasn't aware how much time had passed when she was awakened by a rude sprinkle of icy water in the face. She spluttered and looked around; Ranko was fiddling frantically with the umbrella, which was wet all over the inside. A second later it became clear what had happened: another splash of water shot up from the roadway, caromed off the inside of the umbrella, and this time arced over the seat to catch Ryouga square in the face.

Tish heard a feminine voice exclaim "Ahhh—" then suddenly cut off. Had that been Akane? She turned to look. Ryouga was slouched down in his seat, and for some reason the rain gear seemed baggier than it had a moment ago. He was holding a cup of steaming liquid, and drank it rather carelessly; most of it splashed on his face, dripping off the goggles. He sat up straight in his seat again, though Tish had the oddest feeling that he'd… expanded, somehow.

She shook her head and turned back to Ranko, who had maneuvered the umbrella to make a tighter seal against the window. "Well, I guess he got wet anyway."

Ranko's eyes widened in panic. "What? He… did he…" All of a sudden she stopped speaking.

"Did he what?"

"Uhhh… never mind."

Tish blinked. "Does he have a problem with water or something?"

Ranko blurted out, "Ummm… yes. He's, ahh, allergic." She winced.

"Allergic to _water_?"

"Well, ummm, it's just really cold water. He's, ummm, not really allergic, but, ummm… he has a, ummm… reaction." She sagged slightly.

Tish said nothing, leaning back in her seat again. _They're not quite as normal as I thought. _Considering Ranko herself, perhaps that shouldn't have been a surprise. She closed her eyes again.

* * *

><p>Tish watched Akane pay and thank the two taxi drivers who had driven them from Fuurinkan-cho station to the Tendou family home. She turned and regarded the impressive gate, which a sign announced to be the entrance to the Tendou Dojo. The rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle during the two and a half hours it had taken them to get home, but Ryouga had still dashed inside immediately on their arrival. At least he'd had the good grace to carry in a couple of suitcases as he went.<p>

So far, Tish was not impressed with her roommate's future husband. She couldn't imagine what kind of reaction to cold water could make a grown man act like such a baby.

The splash on the bus had been only the beginning. He'd done the umbrella-swordplay business on the platform at Narita City again, only to be blind-sided by a blocked rainspout overflowing at an inopportune moment—directly onto his head. He'd cringed so much he'd almost seemed to shrink, and immediately guzzled whatever hot beverage he was carrying in that thermos, only then straightening up again. The Maronouchi subway line had been shut down due to minor flooding, so they'd had to ride the Yamanote line after all, and Ryouga had gotten splashed again. And again. And again. By the time they'd climbed into the cab at Fuurinkan-cho station, Tish had watched him go through the cringing and hot water routine five times. The one time she'd gotten a good look at his face, his expression had seemed to be just this side of a nervous breakdown.

She blinked her weary, bloodshot eyes, and helped the other women carry the rest of the luggage in. At this point, she didn't care about Ranko's fiancé, or much of anything else. All she wanted was to get something to eat, have a quick bath, and tumble into a futon.

Once they were in the entryway, Kasumi seemed to recover her good cheer rapidly. "Tish-san, I'm so sorry you had to suffer through all that horrible weather. We'll have you warmed up in no time."

As they all took off their coats, more people appeared from the hallway. Ryouga again, no longer encased. (Tish had a brief, odd mental image of him in plastic wrap in a refrigerated case at the supermarket, and knew she needed to get to bed.) Two older men, one tall and wiry with a broad mustache and a broader smile, and the other a short, stocky, bald bear of a man, with wire-rim glasses and an easy grin; both were wearing gis. With them was another young woman whose hair was in a no-nonsense shoulder-length style; her eyes were not smiling quite as much as her mouth, and her face announced that she was related to Akane and Kasumi. Tish knew she'd seen all of them in photos, but her mind was too addled with fatigue to put names to the faces.

Ranko introduced one of them by hurling herself into his arms, literally jumping out of her shoes in the process. "Father!" she cried, wrapping her arms around him as best she could; his grin softened into a quiet smile as she nearly disappeared into his embrace. Tish started to smile, then remembered.

She felt like she was watching a badly adjusted television. Superimposed on the scene in front of her—loving father and daughter embracing in reunion—there was another image: her roommate moaning and twisting in her sleep, crying out "_Daddy, the cats… make them go away! Please, Daddy… Please… No…"_

Inside her something ugly bubbled and snarled, enraged; something that wanted to hate this man for torturing his own daughter. Not knowing exactly what he had done made it even worse: once or twice, when she'd been awoken by Ranko's nightmares, her half-dreaming mind had conjured up atrocities to match the cries in the bed across the room. Sometimes she rationalized that it couldn't have been as bad as she imagined; sometimes she feared it had been much worse.

But the obvious love Ranko and her father held for each other twisted her incipient rage in a different direction. _At least he loves her. At least he didn't run away and leave her. At least he didn't throw her away like… garbage. _The rage died unborn, transformed into a familiar and incurable pain.

Ranko and her father broke their embrace, and everyone's attention was on Tish; she shoved her thoughts aside and repeated her self-introduction, bowing respectfully to the older men. As she had suspected, the taller one turned out to be Akane and Kasumi's father, Tendou Souun; Ranko's father's name was Genma, which Tish remembered now that she'd heard it again.

The young woman was Tendou Nabiki, the middle of the three Tendou sisters. Tish noticed that Nabiki was appraising her carefully; her personality seemed more guarded than that of the others. She seemed to be amused; by what, Tish couldn't tell.

She was quickly ushered into house slippers and hustled down the hall, and soon found herself sitting with the rest of them around a large table in the family room of a large and magnificent traditional Japanese home, worthy of the promise made by the gate out front. The doors to the outside were closed against the weather, but Tish could just make out a garden and what looked like a koi pond. She felt an enormous sense of relief to finally be at rest after traveling so far for so long, and drank in the comfortable surroundings.

Once everyone was settled Kasumi turned to head towards the kitchen. "Just give me a moment and I'll throw something together for us to eat."

Nabiki grimaced. "Sorry, Oneechan, when Akane called and said you'd be late, I tried calling the Nekohanten to get something, but they're not making deliveries tonight." A glance passed around the room, leading Tish to wonder what everyone knew that she didn't. Ranko seemed particularly pensive.

The redhead shook herself and got to her feet. "I'll help, Oneechan." Akane seemed to be about to add something, but bit her lip and looked down, subdued.

Tish started to get to her feet as well, but Kasumi spoke firmly. "Please don't get up, Tish-san. It's kind of you to offer, but you're our guest, and you must be exhausted." She turned to Ranko. "Are you sure you don't want to rest, too? You've had a very trying day."

Nodoka stood up. "Let me help Kasumi, Dear. You've been traveling all day, and it wouldn't be right for us to put you to work in the kitchen right away."

Ranko opened her mouth to object, then looked between her older sister and her mother and closed it again. She nodded reluctantly, and sat back down.

Kasumi and Nodoka smiled and headed for the kitchen, from which soon emanated busy and purposeful noise.

Tish looked out through the closed doors again. "Your home is beautiful, Tendou-san. I'm looking forward to seeing the grounds in the daylight."

Souun's face lit up in a proud smile. "Thank you, Tissue-san. Our home isn't much, but I hope you enjoy your stay here."

Ranko looked around at her family and smiled. "It's so nice to finally be home." She yawned suddenly, leading Tish to do the same. "Actually, it'd be even nicer to be in bed." Everyone laughed.

"Dinner won't be long, and then you can get to bed," said Kasumi, ducking in from the kitchen carrying a tray filled with tea cups, a pot, and several glasses of water. She set it down carefully on the table. "Here's something to drink while you're waiting." She reached for the teapot.

"Let me do that for you, Oneechan," said Akane. "I can take care of this at least." Kasumi smiled and withdrew, as Akane leaned forward to distribute the teacups around the table. "Would you like some tea, Tish-san?"

"Yes, please," answered Tish sleepily. "Actually, I'd like some water, too, if you don't mind."

Akane smiled and handed one of the glasses to Tish, who reached across to get it. She wasn't quite awake enough to grab it before Akane let go, and the glass dropped straight to the table, where it landed square on its bottom. It didn't shatter, but the contents erupted in a fountain, spraying everyone.

Tish opened her mouth to apologize, but couldn't utter a word as her brain belatedly played back the last couple of seconds. As soon as the water had struck them, something had happened to Ranko's fiancé and father: their bodies had shifted like putty.

Ryouga had seemed to shrink, the bulk of his torso, shoulders, and upper arms melting away. His chin and jaw had shrunk as well; his brow had receded and his face had become soft and round. The shape of his face and chest announced that he was now a she. She smiled nervously and stuck her hand behind her head.

Ranko's father had changed even more drastically: he'd expanded rapidly in size, black and white fur sprouting all over his body. Two eyes surrounded by black circles of fur had replaced his glasses, which dangled from one furry ear.

It had only taken a second, but every detail of the transformation stood out vividly in her memory. She stared back and forth between the two of them, recognizing the panda and girl she'd seen in Ranko's beach photos. She turned to look helplessly at her roommate, whose cheeks were bright red: she looked equally incapable of speech.

She turned back to stare at the girl and the panda, and felt dizzy; there was a kind of buzzing noise in her ears. The last thing she saw as her vision narrowed to a point was the panda holding up a sign saying, "_Really, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this._"

* * *

><p>End Chapter 7<p>

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

**Copyright Notice **

The characters and stories of Ranma ½ are Copyright © Rumiko Takahashi, and are used here without permission or license.

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.

This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.

This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Ranma ½ characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Ranma ½ as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

All original characters and story elements expressed herein are Copyright © 2002-2008 by the author.


	8. Chapter 8: Friends

Notes from Juilliard

By ClassicalGal

Chapter 8

* * *

><p>Tish emitted a plaintive <em>mmmm<em> and shifted uncomfortably; something tickled her nose. She wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, but her stomach was complaining and her eyes flickered open instead. She was in a dark room, with only faint illumination from a streetlight outside filtering through a rain-spattered window. Instead of the never-ending noise of Manhattan, all she heard was the gentle whisper of the rain and the receding drone of a single distant automobile. _Where am I?_

She reached up to scratch her nose, her hand passing under the cover as she did so; she realized that she was lying in a futon. Finally, her memories started to catch up with her. _Oh, right. I'm at Ranko's house in Tokyo. I guess I fell asleep and they put me to bed. That must have been right after her father and fiancé…_

Ranko sat bolt upright in her bed, a shrill noise tormenting her ears and jolting her awake. "Oh, man," she mumbled, "did the guys across the hall set off the smoke alarm _again_?" Just then, her mother turned on the room lights, and she realized it wasn't the dorm smoke alarm. It was Tish.

Her friend was also sitting bolt upright, screaming at the top of her lungs. Ranko vaulted out of bed and joined Nodoka at Tish's side.

"Tissue-san," admonished a bleary-eyed Nodoka, "please calm down; there's nothing to be afraid of. It's one o'clock in the morning and you'll wake the rest of the family."

Tish clamped down on her scream, but her eyes were very, very wide. "Ch… ch… changed… panda… girl…" The scream looked like it was industriously trying to worm its way out again. Ranko reached out a hand to comfort her, but Tish jerked away instinctively.

Ranko cringed; she hadn't thought Tish would take it this hard. "It's all right, Tish," she said gently, "Nothing is going to happen to you. You're safe here."

At that moment the door slid open, and a sleepy Nabiki poked her head in. "What exactly is going on here?"

Ranko grimaced slightly. "Tish woke up again and remembered seeing Dad and Ryouga change. I guess it's scary if you've never seen it before."

Nabiki snorted. "Oh, is that all." She turned to Tish. "Don't worry, after a while you won't even notice how weird things are around here. It's no big deal." She gave a great yawn. "I'm going back to bed." She closed the door gently behind her.

Nabiki's matter-of-fact attitude helped calm Tish down a little, though it didn't help her become any more coherent. "What… what… how…"

Ranko sighed, bit her lip, and looked down. Her mother patted her gently on the shoulder. "Allow me, Dear." She turned to Tish. "Tissue-san, Ranko's father and her fiancé are both suffering from magical curses they received in China." Ranko's hands clenched a little, unnoticed.

Tish's jaw hung slightly open, and she found her voice. "Magical? Do you expect me—" She cut herself off, a strange expression on her face. "What… what kind of curses?"

Ranko was still staring at the floor, her cheeks red. "They change whenever they're touched by cold water. My father changes into a panda, and Ryouga changes into a female version of himself. Hot water changes them back to their original forms." She thought for a moment, and added, "A couple of other people we know have similar curses, too."

Tish looked shell-shocked; her face was slack. She slowly turned to stare out the window at the rain, and didn't say anything. All those times she'd thought Ryouga had been slouching… That time on the phone when Ranko had talked about his "girl form"…

Ranko eyes grew wet, and tears started to escape and track down her cheeks. "Tish… I'm sorry… I… I knew you'd find out if you came, but I didn't think it would be the first night, and I didn't think it would frighten you this much. I guess I'm too used to all this." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm sorry…"

Tish looked back from the window. Even with this latest bizarre surprise, Ranko was still Ranko. "I… I'm sorry… It's just scary. It's really scary. Until tonight, I've never thought for a moment that magic could possibly be real." She sighed. "I still can't believe it. This is the kind of thing that happens in movies or stories, not in real life. It's not _supposed_ to happen in real life." She put a hand over her eyes. "It's overwhelming."

Suddenly she looked up, terrified again. "These curses… they're not… c-c-contagious or anything…?" Ranko shook her head vigorously, and Tish buried her face in her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs, trembling slightly.

Nodoka put an arm around her, something that was only possible when they were both sitting. "Tissue-san, as Nabiki-chan says, there are many strange things that happen in this family, so perhaps we're not 'normal' by some standards. You can't help but notice that if you have my daughter as a friend." Ranko blushed crimson. "But you'll also find no better or more loyal friends than her and her adopted sisters."

Tish thought back to Ranko's heroics going after the punk who'd mugged Taneoka Eimi, someone Ranko had only just recently met. The tension in her shoulders and back relaxed somewhat. "I know." She uncurled, her hands on her knees.

A small smile creased Ranko's face, though she was still too embarrassed to make eye contact. "Think of being my friend as an adventure."

Tish stared at her for a moment, then all three women started to laugh. They were interrupted by a loud growl from Tish's stomach. Tish looked down, embarrassed. "Excuse me."

"You poor dear," clucked Nodoka. "You must be starving after missing dinner. After you fainted we just couldn't wake you, so we decided to let you sleep. Ranko and Ryouga-kun carried you up here." Tish's eyes widened.

Nodoka smiled as she continued, "We did save you some leftovers, though." She stood and started to put on her robe. "I have an idea. Let's take you downstairs and feed you something warm so you can go back to sleep. Ranko can tell you a little bit more about these curses while I heat something up for you." Ranko nodded, and stood to start putting on her own robe.

Tiny tendrils of guilt started to creep through Tish's stomach and mingle with the hunger pangs. "Thank you, Saotome-san. You're very kind."

Nodoka beamed as she tied back her hair. "I told you, Dear, please call me Auntie."

* * *

><p>Tish lay on her side and stared out the window. She had no idea what time it was, but there didn't seem to be any evidence of approaching dawn. Of course, in late December, she didn't really expect any until well after everyone was awake. The rain had stopped, but it still seemed to be overcast, judging by the reflected yellow glow in the sky.<p>

She'd managed another couple of hours, but then had woken up and found further sleep elusive. She'd only gotten about seven or eight hours altogether and wanted more after yesterday's ordeal, but her body's clock was sure it was late afternoon, and refused to cooperate.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been trying, either. All she knew was that she was lying on her side and staring out the window, and everyone else was still asleep, as far as she could tell. Ranko and her mother definitely were, having gone to bed closer to a normal bedtime, and spent a couple of hours awake with her in the kitchen.

That had certainly been an interesting experience. Ranko had told her the story of the cursed training ground of Jusenkyou, and of the many springs there. How she and her father had gone there on their training journey, unaware of the danger, how her father had fallen into the Spring of Drowned Panda, and how he had lived with the consequences ever since. Tish had listened, wide-eyed, as Ranko had stammered out that she and Ryouga had been on bad terms at the time, and he'd had the ill luck to follow her to Jusenkyou, where he'd fallen into the Spring of Drowned Piglet. Luckily, he'd eventually managed to replace that curse with one that was easier to live with.

Even though she'd seen them change with her own eyes, even with Ranko's and her mother's corroboration, she could still scarcely believe it. She felt like she'd fallen into some kind of cursed spring herself, and been transformed into a character in a fantasy story. Too bad hot water wouldn't make it all go away. If there were cursed springs, and people who turned into animals or changed sexes—if magic was real—then what else was real? Witches? Warlocks? Werewolves? Dragons? Vampires? The world had become a scarier place. Tish shivered; magic belonged in stories, not in real life. A world full of magic might sound romantic, but it was also dangerous and unpredictable.

She knew she'd have to see the curses in action again before she could fully grasp it. From what Ranko had said, she'd have plenty of opportunities.

Almost as hard to believe as curses and magic was the idea that Ryouga, who had shown ample evidence of his love for Ranko yesterday, in fact from the beginning of the school year, could ever have been angry enough with her to stalk her to a remote corner of China, bent on revenge. Ranko would say only that the root cause of their quarrel had been resolved, and that had opened the door to romance.

Tish had asked an obvious question: how had Ranko managed to escape becoming cursed herself? Her roommate's eyes had grown both distant and evasive, and she'd finally replied only that she'd been very lucky at Jusenkyou. Tish had the feeling—which was becoming a familiar one—that she wasn't hearing the whole story. She wondered how many layers of this particular onion she would have to peel before there were none left. Being the possessor of her own painful secrets, however, she couldn't condemn Ranko for dribbling the truth out one revelation at a time.

She hadn't felt like engaging in interrogation, because first, it would hardly be polite to her hostess, and second, it _was_ the middle of the night. Nodoka had served her her belated supper at that point anyway. And that had been when the late night encounter had turned truly weird, for it had been she who had been interrogated.

Her effusive praise of the meal she'd been served had led Nodoka to compliment her on her flawless, unaccented Japanese and her excellent manners, and to inquire how someone of her background (delicately put, Tish had thought) had acquired these skills. A mind addled by jet lag, warm feelings engendered by delicious food, and Nodoka's solicitous manner had all conspired to make her garrulous, even incautious, and she hadn't required much encouragement to blurt out her entire life story without really meaning to. It had taken her months to work up to telling Ranko, but here she was telling the whole of her painful adolescence to a woman she'd just met.

As she lay in her futon and stared out the window, she shook her head. The reason she'd stopped talking about her past was that when people found out, they tended to grow distant and uncomfortable. When Tish told them she was a black woman who felt more like a Japanese than an American, they seemed to react about the same as if she'd said she was Jane Austen. Tish knew what it meant to be outside someone's comfort zone, and had grown tired of the feeling.

When her brain had finally caught up with her mouth, she'd started kicking herself mentally, and hoped she hadn't alienated Ranko's mother, and perhaps the entire family. To her surprise, Nodoka had expressed heartfelt sympathy, and had started peppering her with questions about her friends, her school, her likes and dislikes, her acting aspirations, and pretty much everything else under the sun.

After a half hour or so of this it had slowly dawned on Tish that not only was Nodoka treating her as a Japanese — astonishing and rare in and of itself — she was being… maternal. Being mothered was a feeling Tish had had trouble recognizing, for she had not felt it from anyone in longer than she could remember. Her own mother had been emotionally absent long before she'd physically left.

Like a lamp revealing the true extent of a huge underground cavern, Nodoka's motherly concern had illuminated the gaping hole in Tish's life, sketching its outlines. A hole she had tried hard to ignore and whose size even she had not fully understood, one that her father and little brother, caring though they were, could not begin to fill. Tears had started to spill down her cheeks, taking the other two women by surprise.

Overcome, she had blurted out the reason for her emotional outburst even as she was apologizing for it. Nodoka had taken her hand, looked straight into her eyes, and assured her that while she couldn't take the place of Tish's own mother, Tish could count on her if she needed motherly support or advice. Even while wishing with all her heart that it was her own mother who was holding her hand and comforting her so, Tish had stammered out her gratitude to Nodoka for making such a generous offer, knowing that like her daughter she wouldn't do so lightly.

Though embarrassed, Tish couldn't help but ask why Nodoka was willing to do so much for her, someone she hardly knew. Nodoka had laughed and replied that after missing her daughter for twelve years, she relished the opportunity to play the role of mother and besides, Tish was no stranger: she had shown herself to be a true and loyal friend. Ranko and her mother had smiled at each other, and Tish had understood just how important trust and loyalty were to this family. She hoped she was worthy of it.

When she was cried out, Nodoka had patted her hand and suggested they all get back to bed. Once she had settled in her futon Nodoka had put a hand on her shoulder and smiled for a moment, before turning out the lights and climbing into her own. This simple gesture had sent a wave of contentment through Tish, and emotional exhaustion and a full stomach had taken care of the rest: sleep had come quickly. For a time, anyway.

She reflected that she hadn't even been in this house for twelve hours, had not even seen the place in daylight, and already she'd found out about magical curses, fainted, panicked, broken down and cried, and been semi-adopted by Ranko's mother. She wondered what else would happen during the two weeks before they returned to New York.

Suddenly she heard the door slowly slide open, and held her breath. She was trying to make up her mind whether to turn and look, when she heard the sound of a comforter rustling and a soft whisper in the dark. "Sis… Sis…"

Ranko's sleepy reply came. "Nnn?"

"Sis, it's me. It's 6 AM. Do you want to get up and spar with your father and me?"

There was quiet for a moment. "…'morrow… tired…"

Tish could hear the affectionate smile in Akane's voice. "OK. But no excuses tomorrow."

"…'kay…"

A few moments later the door slid shut. Tish lay still for a while, then quietly slid out of her futon, grabbed the clothes she'd laid out when she'd gone back to bed, and followed.

* * *

><p>Akane was just straightening up from her bow to the dojo shrine when she sensed the presence in the open doorway. She and Uncle Genma turned just as a voice came: "Please excuse the intrusion…"<p>

Once again Akane experienced the brief dissonance from the contrast between the mental image that voice elicited and the person it belonged to. Akane had known in an abstract way that Tish was a tall, black American, but when she'd spoken to her on the phone, she'd still visualized a young Japanese woman. Americanized to be sure — though still well-mannered — intelligent, and full of life. Even after meeting Tish in person, the image just refused to go away.

Akane didn't know the details of Tish's life, but she did know that Tish was not the typical American who'd lived in Japan. She wasn't quite sure where her image of Tish was coming from, but she tended to trust her instincts. When Ranko had come back into her life, her first impression had been of a shy, sad, desperately lonely girl, a deep longing for friendship lurking behind her rough manners. Even though that image had been shattered when a boy had emerged from the bath that night, it had turned out that her first impression had been right.

She smiled as her eyes found Tish standing in the doorway. "Good morning, Tish-san. You're certainly up early."

Tish nodded. "I've been awake for a while, actually. It's the jet lag. I guess I, umm, fell asleep too early yesterday. I'm sorry about that." She inclined her head to Genma, and they all understood what she was really apologizing for. Genma inclined his head in return. They regarded each other for a moment longer than was really polite.

Tish looked uncertainly between the two martial artists. "Do you mind if I watch you spar? I got up early once to watch Ranko, and…"

Akane and Genma turned to look at each other for a moment; Genma nodded. Akane answered "Of course not," and waved Tish towards a corner. "Please sit over there."

After making sure their guest was settled out of harm's way, Akane turned to her sparring partner; they bowed to each other, then began.

* * *

><p>Ranko rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she made her way downstairs. She couldn't stumble—not with her balance, not even if she'd been asleep on her feet—but her footsteps might have been a little heavier than normal. She turned the corner into the family room and paused. The whole family was there, in mid-breakfast. Tish was sitting next to Nabiki and seemed to be in a cheerful mood; at least, there was no overt sign of the previous night's anxieties. Ryouga was absent, having gone home last night and not yet returned.<p>

Her mother's eyes found her. "Good morning, Sweetheart," she called, and the rest of the family joined in the chorus.

Ranko smiled and said her good mornings, scanning the table for a place to sit.

"You're late for breakfast," added Nabiki. "If I were superstitious I would say it was a bad omen." Everyone laughed as Ranko blushed slightly; she squeezed in between Akane and her mother, then started serving herself.

"I woke up early this morning, so I went to watch your sister and your father practice," offered Tish. "You told me they're better, but I couldn't really tell. It was all I could do to keep up with who was where; it was like watching a video game on fast forward."

Akane smiled and waved her hand. "Ranko's being modest. Back when she did martial arts full time she was definitely better than I am now. Uncle Genma could still give her a run for her money back then, but few others could." Ranko and her father exchanged glances, a wordless conversation passing between them.

"Well, tomorrow morning you can see just how bad I've gotten," said Ranko, grinning. "Finding some fifth dan to fight helped, but not enough. I'm sure getting a chance to practice with you and Dad while I'm here will whip me into shape."

Genma snorted. "Looks like you need more training, child. Maybe I ought to come to New York and make sure you get it."

"Excellent idea, Saotome," added Souun.

Nodoka smiled. "Are you sure there isn't another reason you want to go to New York?" Genma _harrumphed_ but made no other comment, reddening slightly. Ranko smiled affectionately at her father.

Nodoka continued, "Well, before your father can work on your training, we have other things to take care of. Today will be quite busy."

Tish looked back and forth between Ranko and her mother. "Oh?"

Ranko turned to explain, "We discussed this last night after you, um… you know. Mother arranged a lot of the wedding chores and errands for today. She thought if we got most of them out of the way right away, we'd have more free time."

Nodoka smiled at Tish. "I'm afraid I'll be dragging you and Ranko's sisters all over Tokyo." She inclined her head.

Tish shook her head vigorously. "Really, I don't mind."

Nodoka continued, "I'm afraid there's more. So many people called asking when Ranko would be home that Kasumi-chan and I arranged a small get-together for tonight."

Ranko nodded excitedly. "You'll get to meet a lot of my friends from high school and college. Even Professor Murata is coming." Her face fell a little. "I guess I won't get to see Ryouga again until tonight." She still hadn't collected on that kiss; though she'd gotten to spend a little time with him after they'd put Tish to bed, she'd been exhausted, and they hadn't really had an opportunity to be alone together. There wouldn't be much chance tonight in a house full of people, either.

Nodoka raised a hand and gestured. "Kasumi and I will have to be back here this afternoon to prepare for the party tonight, and you two will have some more time then." She smiled. "So we should be off on our errands as soon as possible."

Ranko grinned, her spirits lifting. "Thank you for being my social secretary, Mother, as well as my wedding planner."

Nodoka laughed musically. "I'm still making up for lost time, Dear."

* * *

><p>The women of the family were across the street from Fuurinkan-cho station, waiting for the light to change, when a high-pitched screech assailed their ears, momentarily drowning out the traffic noise. "<em>Oneechan!<em>"

Ranko grinned as she turned around, just in time to catch a five-year-old bullet with barrettes. "Miki-chan!" She stood up as the little girl threw her arms around her neck and hugged her furiously; even Nabiki laughed. Ranko hugged Miki back, as the walk signal turned green, unnoticed. Pedestrians smiled at the scene as they maneuvered past.

Tish watched a young woman pushing a one-year-old boy in a stroller hurry up to the gathering. Miki let go of Ranko's neck and waved. "Mommy, Seiji, look! Ranko-neechan is home!"

The little boy looked Ranko over, recognition slowly dawning in his eyes. "Gaaaa!"

The woman gave her daughter a disapproving look. "Even if Ranko-neechan is home that's no excuse to go running off in a crowd, young lady." Miki responded by turning around and burying her face in Ranko's shoulder again.

The woman sighed, then smiled and inclined her head. "Welcome home, Ranko-chan."

Ranko inclined her head in return, then reached down to ruffle Seiji's hair; he squealed in delight. "Thank you, Noriko-san. It's wonderful to see you all again." She looked down at Miki. "You need to listen to Mommy, Honey. She's right; running away in a crowd is dangerous."

Miki tilted her head in resignation and drawled, "Oookayy." She brightened. "Are you famous yet?"

Ranko laughed. "Not yet. How about you?"

Miki screwed up her face. "Not yet. But I'm going to kindergarten this spring! I think I'll be famous then."

Ranko tickled her little friend's nose. "I'm sure you will be." She noticed Tish standing off to one side, watching. "Noriko-san, Miki, this is my roommate from Juilliard, Tish Williams. She's spending the holidays with us. Tish, this is Kobuchizawa Noriko, her daughter Miki, and her son Seiji. I used to babysit Miki when I was in high school."

Noriko bowed hesitantly, and spoke in broken English. "_Harro, Miss Tissue. I happy to meet you._"

Tish paused a fraction of a second, then bowed in return. "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Kobuchizawa-san." She straightened up and smiled. "I have to say, your children are absolutely adorable."

"Please, you're too…" Suddenly Noriko did a double-take, and her jaw hung open for a fraction of a second before she caught herself. "My goodness, Tissue-san, your Japanese is flawless!" Tish shook her head and waved her hand in dismissal.

"What does 'flawless' mean?" asked Miki.

Ranko squeezed the little girl. "It means perfect."

Miki frowned. "Mommy, don't all grownups talk perfect?"

Noriko opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She thought for a moment. "I'll explain later, Sweetie."

Miki looked Tish up and down, her five-year-old eyes taking everything in. "You're really, really tall. You're taller than Daddy!"

Tish grinned. "Am I?"

"Yeah. When I grow up, I wanna be as tall as you!"

Tish was all smiles. "Maybe you will be."

"Your skin is very pretty, too. I saw someone downtown with dark skin once before. Why is your skin so dark? Was the oven too hot?"

Everyone blinked. "The oven?" asked Tish.

"When Seiji was in Mommy's tummy, Grandpa said she had 'another one in the oven,' and we burned some cookies last week…"

"_Miki!_" shrieked Noriko, mortified.

Tish laughed and waved her hand to forestall the protest. "It's OK." She leaned down to put her face closer to Miki's level; Ranko hiked her passenger up a little higher in her arms. "I'm glad you like it. My skin is brown because I was born this way. My mommy and daddy have brown skin, too."

"Oh," said Miki. "Is it because you're an em-ah… Numerican?"

"American," corrected Noriko.

Tish's smile faded imperceptibly. "Sort of."

Nodoka broke in. "I'm so sorry, Kobuchizawa-san, but we are short on time today. Tonight's party…"

"Oh, of course," replied Noriko. "Miki, they have to go."

Miki pouted as Ranko put her down. "I wanna play with Ranko-neechan and Tissue-neechan some more!"

Noriko reached out and put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "We'll see them at the party tonight, OK?"

"OK…" groused Miki.

Noriko waved. "Ranko-chan, Miki and I will see you tonight." She nodded at Tish. "Tissue-san, it was nice to meet you. I'm looking forward to chatting with you tonight." Tish inclined her head.

Noriko moved off, Miki in tow. The little girl's cross mood was already forgotten, and she waved energetically as she was dragged off. "Bye bye!"

Ranko and Tish laughed and waved back; Noriko and her children disappeared into the crowd within seconds. Just then, the crosswalk light turned green, and the group crossed the street towards the station.

Nabiki smiled at Tish and shook her head. "You must get tired of people oohing and ahhing over your Japanese all the time."

Only her sharp ears allowed her to catch the quiet reply over the noise of the traffic and the train pulling out of the station. "Yes."

* * *

><p>"Are you getting tired yet, Ranko-chan? I'll just be a few more minutes."<p>

Nabiki grinned as her little sister replied politely, "Thank you, Ito-san, I'm fine." Nabiki knew that Ranko could stand like that for hours. Now if it had been herself, her feet would be aching something fierce by now…

"That's good, Dear. A lot of girls get tired, you know, so I thought I'd ask." The middle-aged shopkeeper continued circling around the petite redhead and sticking pins into the white wedding kimono that she wore. Nabiki thought Ito-san looked as if she were jabbing at a life-sized voodoo doll. "It's so nice that you could come in this far in advance, it gives me plenty of time to work on it. Of course, I guess it's because you're going to be in America until your wedding, isn't it? Most girls wait until the last minute and then want it right away, let me tell you. Why just the other day…"

Nabiki tuned Ito-san out and leaned back in her chair, glad to be doing nothing. Today was her first day off for the New Year's holiday break, and she was happy for the chance to sit still. No fetching tea for her boss, no toting his briefcase or golf bag, no writing memos with his name on them, no… Nabiki let go of the arm of the chair and briskly shook her hand; the knuckles had been turning white. She let out a long sigh, and folded her arms. She closed her eyes, and tried to forget about work and the fact that she'd be going back in a week and a half. She felt as if she was in remission from a terminal illness.

She heard the bustle out in the front room, as Ito-san's employees tended to the other customers in the small shop, tucked away on a tree-shaded side street in Ginza. She opened her eyes and glanced around the room, her eyes passing over the bolts of richly embroidered fabric arrayed neatly along one wall. They'd never have been able to afford to buy Ranko's kimono at a place like this if Ito-san hadn't been an old high school friend of Nodoka's. As it was, they'd had to search hard for a fabric inexpensive enough for the Saotome family budget. Penny-pinching was a passion of Nabiki's, and she admired what Auntie had been able to arrange for the wedding despite her very modest means.

Nodoka, of course, was hovering nearly as closely as Ito-san, trying every now and then to interject a comment, but unable to find a pause in the monologue long enough to do so. Still, she seemed serene, the gentle smile never leaving her face. Nabiki relaxed further, and smiled as she thought about how badly Auntie had wanted to see her daughter wear traditional Japanese garb at her wedding.

Kasumi and Akane were watching the proceedings, rapt, their minds already on Ranko's wedding day five months from now… and likely on their own as well, Nabiki mused.

She wasn't going there. While she thought she might get married eventually — assuming she ever met a guy who was up to her standards — it wasn't something she thought about a lot. At all, to be honest. It was way too conjectural for a practical woman such as herself. Focus on what you have to deal with now, and on what you can control. Plan what you can. She'd never been a daydreamer.

She glanced over at Tish, who was also watching Ito-san pin up Ranko's kimono. Her eyes were less starry, more focused; she had a rather more sober expression on her face. Nabiki had the impression she was looking more at the garment itself rather envisioning its eventual use. Even so, there was just a touch of something far away in her eyes.

Nabiki decided that interrogating Tish would be much more fun than obsessing about her job. Besides, she'd been intrigued by the comment she'd overheard earlier, and wanted to get to know her sister's roommate better. She knew the basics—Air Force brat, grew up in Japan, went to Japanese schools—but that was it. She got up and dragged her chair over next to Tish's.

"You look like a woman with something on her mind," observed Nabiki as she sat down. It was one of her standard openings. It usually worked, despite sounding like a cheesy pick-up line.

It didn't fail her this time. "I was just thinking about the last time I wore a kimono," replied Tish softly.

"It's been a while?"

Tish nodded. "Not since I was in junior high, shortly before we left Japan. I wore it when I met my friend Shigeru and her family for New Year's shrine visits." Her face clouded slightly.

Nabiki decided to stick with the original topic. "Where did you get the kimono? Did you rent it?" Kasumi, her attention caught by the conversation, turned away from watching Ranko to listen in.

Tish laughed. "No. I managed to talk my father into buying one for me. It wasn't that nice, because we didn't have a lot of money when he was in the Air Force." She smiled. "But I was very fond of it."

Nabiki's cheapskate instincts were engaged. "So if you owned it, why didn't you wear it again?"

"Well… after we moved back to America, there wasn't a reason to. When I thought to try it on again a couple of years later, I'd outgrown it." She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. "I haven't really had a reason to buy another one." She nodded at Ranko, who was still patiently enduring Ito-san's non-stop chattering. "Ranko's kimono got me to daydreaming about buying another one for her wedding, but I can't justify it for one wearing." She smiled. "I was really tempted, though. Ito-san makes beautiful kimonos."

Well-oiled gears turned in Nabiki's head, and a rough estimate of Tish's financial status popped out: rich enough to consider buying a kimono in Ginza for one occasion, but not so rich that it was an impulse purchase. The fact was filed away for future reference.

Kimonos seemed exhausted as a conversational topic, so Nabiki tried a new tack. "So when did you leave Japan?"

Tish's eyes grew distant. "In 1995. After the end of the school year in March, right after the big Hanshin earthquake and the Aum Shinrikyo attack."

Nabiki nodded. "That was a pretty scary time."

Tish snorted. "Oddly enough, that wasn't the reason we left. I wanted to stay, despite all that. We left because of a… family problem." A brief moment of pain flashed across her face, so quick Nabiki didn't so much see it as receive an impression, like a subliminal message.

She noted this too, though the part of her mind that dealt with people was less well oiled. Still, she'd improved a lot from her "Mercenary Girl" days, a time when she'd been withdrawn, manipulative, and antisocial. She'd never really trusted other people after her mother had up and died on her. Her family had been very patient with her quirks, something she was grateful for in hindsight.

It wasn't until she'd felt driven to help midwife Ranko's painful rebirth that she'd realized just how emotionally crippled she was herself. After helping her little sister get back on her feet, she'd set about doing the same thing for herself. She still loved working with money — to her, it was as much an art as Ranko's, and money was her clay — but these days it was just one part of her, and it wasn't a way to torment other people. Besides, her art wasn't getting much exercise in her current…

_Don't go there_. "Is this your first time back to Japan since you left?"

Tish nodded. "Yes. It's been nine years."

"How does it feel after all this time?"

Tish looked around, though Nabiki knew she was looking at something other than the bolts of silk brocade hanging on the walls. "It's where I grew up, but… I'm not sure it's home any more." She smiled a half smile. "But I'm not sure it isn't, either."

Nabiki was intrigued by this Japanese-American chimera. "Got any plans?"

Tish nodded firmly. "Yes. I had a few close friends I grew up with, and I've lost track of them. I want to try to find them." She relaxed slightly. "Other than that, not really. Just knock around Tokyo, I guess."

Nabiki smiled. "If you want help finding your friends, just let me know. I'm good at that sort of thing." Nabiki wasn't even aware of how far she'd come to be able to make such an offer without a price tag but, unnoticed, a quiet smile passed over Kasumi's face.

Tish smiled warmly herself. "Thank you, Nabiki-san. I'm sure I'll need all the help I can get."

* * *

><p>Ranko snuggled into Ryouga's side a little more closely, enjoying the oasis of warmth in the face of the chill wind blowing across the dojo roof. December was not the best month to be up here, but it still couldn't be beat for privacy.<p>

"It was weird… being back home today, walking around Tokyo."

"Weird?"

"I guess I've gotten used to America. The way people talk and interact there is different. People are very direct, especially in New York. It was strange to be back here, where people are more polite and circumspect. People here don't say what they feel as often."

"Did it bother you?"

She pondered that for a while. "No… it was just… different." She smiled. "I guess I have another perspective on things now."

A teasing note entered his voice. "Are you gonna go native, like Principal Kunou?"

She snorted. "Hardly. It's not that I don't like Japan any more; I'm still Japanese. Maybe I'm getting to be a little bit like Tish, with one foot in each culture."

"That's a long stretch for a short person."

She poked him in the side. "Hey! No making fun of your fiancée."

They were silent for a few moments. "Speaking of being direct, has that guy stopped pestering you?"

Ranko blinked. "Which guy?"

"What's-his-name. The French guy, your study partner. You haven't been mentioning him as much."

"Oh, Jean-Pierre… I guess he's still the same, but I've kind of figured him out a bit more, and I think the obnoxious behavior is just a front he puts up. I can empathize; it reminds me a little of how I was when I was… well, socially challenged. I've learned to tune out all the flirting and stuff. Now that I know him better we've become friends." She smiled. "It's certainly helped us to work together more smoothly."

Ryouga didn't say anything for a few moments, and Ranko turned to look at him. After five years as his fiancée, she knew all of this man's moods, and she read the uncertainty in his eyes. "Oh come on now, don't look like that! We're just friends! I have other guy friends, like Hiroshi and Daisuke."

"I didn't say anything."

She squeezed the hand she was holding. "You didn't have to." She stretched her head up to kiss him. "Just remember, I'm marrying _you_ this June, not Jean-Pierre. He's just a friend and a colleague." She put her head on his shoulder again, and he held her a little tighter. There was no need for words for a couple of minutes.

After a while she looked up at him again. "Speaking of getting married, when are we going to go look at those dojos of yours?" She grinned. "I may not be a pro myself any more, but I want to see where my husband is going to be teaching." She felt him stiffen, and her smile disappeared. "What?"

He sighed. "Ranko…" There was a long pause. "I… I have something to tell you."

She disengaged from his arm and sat up, turning to look into his eyes. "What is it, Ryouga?" She took his hand again. "What's wrong?"

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. "I… lied to you. About the dojos."

It took a few seconds for his words to register, before she managed "What?" in small voice.

He paused for a long moment. "I… I wasn't telling you the truth about finding a job." He grimaced. "The truth is, I've looked everywhere but I can't find a damn thing. No one is hiring, and we don't have the money for me to buy or rent a place to run myself. Right now, it looks like I'll be unemployed after I graduate."

Ranko let go of his hand and stood up, shivering despite her heavy coat and scarf. She cast her eyes around, not quite sure what to say next, then turned back to Ryouga. "You… you really can't find a job?" She felt a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach; what she had thought was reality was evaporating like a mirage.

He nodded. "Nothing." He bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

Her head spun and her stomach continued to churn. If Ryouga wasn't bringing in any money, what would they live on? Even if she could be a soloist, it didn't pay well unless you were famous and popular, like Ira Zoll. Plus there were lots of travel expenses. And if she wound up playing in an orchestra…!

They'd always been counting on Ryouga's income to make ends meet. Now she wasn't sure they could find a decent place to live. And all their plans for starting a family revolved around him being able to shoulder much of the childcare. Suppose he had to get a more traditional job? Would she have to choose between her career and having a family, as she'd feared when she'd first thought about motherhood?

It took a minute for her rational mind to catch up with her emotions. "And… and you told me all those stories about having something lined up! Why? Why didn't you tell me the truth?" She shook her head slowly, an unpleasant feeling of betrayal joining the witch's brew in her stomach. A dash of anger set it bubbling.

He bowed his head. "I didn't want you to have to deal with it from New York. I didn't want you to have to worry about it on top of all your other worries. Not until you were here and I could help." He looked up at her.

Her eyes flashed, and she folded her arms. "I'm not a child, Ryouga! I don't need protection from reality!"

He leapt to his feet, his own temper rising. "You were already upset about being away from home! All I was trying to do was keep you from getting more stressed out!"

"I am not stressed out!" she shouted, her arms rigid and her fists clenched; he flinched slightly. A strange expression came over her face, and she snorted. "I guess I am right now." He snorted too, and the angry tension seemed to fade somewhat, leaving a dreary, uncomfortable silence.

She turned away and regarded the lights of the shopping district near the train station, the distant flicker of neon. "Ryouga… we're supposed to be partners." She turned to face him again; her eyes were dry but mournful. "I don't want us hiding things from each other. I can't live with a typical Japanese marriage, full of secrets like some kind of perpetual business negotiation. I want us to deal with everything _together_."

He lowered his eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry… I just can't stand seeing you get hurt. It tears me apart."

She blushed and looked off into the light-punctuated blackness that was Fuurinkan-cho, her mind's eye fingering the familiar landmarks in the dark. She stopped on the hulking shape she knew to be the high school, the scene of so many adventures for her… and before that, him. They stood in silence for a minute, while she tried to put her thoughts in order.

She turned back to him and put a hand on his arm; he looked down into her eyes, questioning. "Ryouga, you baka."

"Hey!…"

She shook her head. "No, listen to me. Maybe… maybe five years ago, I needed help. But I was different then. I was a frightened little girl who had to learn to be herself again in a teenage body; I was fragile." She shook his arm. "But I'm a big girl now! I can't hide from life like I did before, when I was Ranma. I don't want to!"

She turned, her hand sliding off his arm, and walked to the edge of the roof again, looking out. "Yes, I'm upset that you can't find a job, but…" she took a deep breath, "but we'll deal with it… somehow. I'm _much_ more upset that you didn't tell me." She turned around to look him in the eye. "Please don't try to protect me any more. Not like that."

He blew out his breath. "I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I just had this vision of you going crazy about this half a world away, where I couldn't reach you, couldn't hold you."

She blushed. "Well… OK. Yes, I would have been upset. I would have been depressed. I would have run up my phone bill a lot." She smiled a little, and he laughed in spite of himself.

Her expression grew serious again. "But I'm still upset and depressed, and now I've had a fight with my fiancé, too." She stuck out her tongue. "It's not an improvement." She noticed his eye on her; his expression was odd. "What is it?"

"You've changed." He folded his arms, one hand on his chin as he regarded her. "Not just since you were Ranma, but since you went to New York."

She looked down at the roof, then up at him again. "Maybe I have."

* * *

><p>"Wait a minute. You played <em>Romeo?<em>"

Shampoo shrugged. "They wanted to cast a girl for the part, and I wanted to try acting."

Tish wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Why a girl?"

Akane cleared her throat, a faint blush on her face. "Well, I guess that would be my fault." Tish raised an eyebrow, and Akane continued, "Things were a bit crazy in high school; there were a number of boys who were determined to date me. The drama club had tried putting on Romeo and Juliet once before, and the boys kept fighting over who would get to be Romeo so they could kiss me, so when we did it again we decided Romeo would be played by another girl."

Tish smiled "It sounds like you were a very popular girl." Her eyes didn't participate fully in the smile; Akane was too caught up in her embarrassment to notice, but Shampoo picked up on it.

Akane shook her head, her cheeks flushing more deeply. "I wouldn't say that. There weren't that many boys interested in me, but they were all martial artists, and they made a circus out of the production."

"Why were there so many martial artists in your school? I don't think there were any at my junior high here."

Akane laughed. "Well, Ranko used to draw martial artists like flies, back when she was… uh, when she was doing martial arts more herself."

An image of Ranko taking off after that mugger flashed through Tish's mind, and she laughed herself. "I guess I can believe that." She frowned. "So, why were they all after you? I mean, you're certainly beautiful enough to attract your share —" Akane blushed again, "— but Ranko seems to attract men wherever she goes."

Akane and Shampoo exchanged a glance. As they were considering how to answer the question, Tish nodded suddenly in comprehension: "Oh, that's right, Ryouga was already her boyfriend, wasn't he?" She paused. "Still, some boys never seem to take no for an answer."

Tish thought Akane had a rather strange look on her face as she answered, "Well, Ranko did have lots of… people after her, too." Shampoo had a strange smile of her own that Tish could not decipher.

Akane seemed to recover somewhat. "One guy was after both of us." She giggled. "Actually, he still is. He's pretty unbelievable." Shampoo rolled her eyes in agreement. "I'm glad we don't run into him much these days."

"Yes," agreed Tish, "there were plenty of hormone-crazed boys at my high school, too. I guess that kind of behavior transcends cultures." The three of them laughed. "Xian Pu, I'm curious to hear more about your drama club at Todai. Do you mind indulging me?"

Akane quietly let out her breath; being evasive about Ranko's past always made her uncomfortable. Aside from the inherent dishonesty, she was always afraid she was going to give something away. She had already spent enough time with Tish to realize that she didn't miss very much. She was as observant as Nabiki, and Akane knew how hard it was to hide things from her older sister.

Shampoo started talking about her amateur theatrical experiences, and Tish listened attentively; she never seemed to tire of discussing the theater. While Akane felt much the same, this was a story she'd heard many times before. She took the opportunity to look around the dojo, which had been turned into a makeshift party room.

Nodoka, Kasumi, and Cologne were engaged in conversation in one corner, and were laughing about something. The fathers were engaged in shogi in another corner; Akane rolled her eyes. _It would be nice if they at least pretended to make an effort…_

Professor Murata had left earlier, and so Ranko was talking with Yuka, Sayuri, and Noriko. Miki had clung to Ranko so closely that she'd finally just scooped the little girl up and carried her around. Akane smiled; it looked like Miki had fallen asleep that way, her head on Ranko's shoulder and her gangly arms around her neck. Noriko was putting on her coat, presumably in preparation for taking her daughter home.

Akane's gaze traveled further, and landed on Ryouga, who was sitting by himself, watching Ranko, a serious expression on his face. He'd been talking to Hiroshi and Daisuke the last time she'd looked; they must have left, too. Miki was not the only one who was tired: it was starting to get a bit late.

Akane frowned. A serious expression was not unusual for Ryouga — he could be somewhat taciturn at times — but something about his air struck Akane as melancholy. She was really enjoying the conversation with Tish, but thought she ought to go talk to him.

She excused herself, and went over and to sit beside him. "You're looking kind of serious tonight, P-chan."

Ryouga smiled and shook his head. "I was just enjoying watching Ranko with Miki. I always do. It brings out another side of her." He was silent for a few moments. "I've been wondering how long it would be before we'll be able to start our own family." He leaned back.

Akane already knew all about Ryouga's troubles. Months ago, she had proposed that he come work with her, but between her father's ideas about keeping the dojo focused on the Anything Goes school, and Ryouga's desire to teach his own school, there were too many egos involved. She didn't feel like beating that particular dead horse again just now. "You weren't planning to start a family right away anyway, were you?"

Ryouga looked sideways at Akane, then back to Ranko, who was holding a sleepily protesting Miki and assisting Noriko as she wrestled the little girl's coat onto her. He let out his breath. "No. Ranko needs time to get her career going before we do that. We both need time…" He trailed off.

Akane watched him carefully. "Why do I get the feeling there's something else, too?"

Ryouga nodded, never taking his eyes off Ranko. "I'm worried about her being in New York. We've never been apart for this long before. She's learning new things, growing…"

Akane frowned. "That's good, isn't it? That's why she went."

Ranko and Noriko were at the dojo entrance now, and as Noriko took Miki from Ranko the little girl wailed "_Nooo_… don't _wanna_…" Ranko and Noriko fussed over her as heads all over the room turned, drawn by the child's cries.

Ryouga sighed. "Yeah, it _is_ good. I'm just worried we'll grow apart. I wasn't when she left this summer, but I am now."

* * *

><p>"Sis… Sis, wake up."<p>

Ranko started slightly at Akane's voice and the hand on her shoulder. "Nnnn?"

"It's 6. You said you wanted to spar this morning."

Ranko was silent for a few seconds, and Akane was about to shake her again when she nodded blearily and sat up in bed. "Mmm, right. Morning."

Akane smiled and stood up. "Good morning, sleepyhead. Meet you in the dojo." She quietly withdrew, sliding the door shut behind her.

Ranko sat for a moment as she gathered the willpower to exit her warm, comfortable bed. With one motion she shoved the comforter aside and stood up. She stretched as hard as she could, her hands reaching for the ceiling. "Nnnnnng…" She stifled a yawn as she looked around the room. Her mother and Tish were still sound asleep. Ranko quickly donned the gi she'd laid out the night before, and left.

She found her father and Akane warming up. "Good morning, Father."

Genma nodded in acknowledgment. "Good morning." He returned to his exercises.

As she began her own stretching exercises, Ranko felt a little thrill of anticipation. As much as Hector-san and her other students had progressed, they were nowhere near her skill level and she worried that her skills were declining. She was pretty sure Akane and her dad would clean the floor with her, but she was looking forward to it in a way. She finished stretching and moved on to her katas. Her father and Akane both watched her carefully.

"Hmmmph," snorted Genma. "Not as bad as I thought, but not as good as I'd like."

"Well, thanks… I think," said Ranko. She laughed.

Akane finished her own katas. "How are your students coming along?"

Ranko didn't answer for a moment, waiting until she'd completed a complex series of motions. "Pretty well, actually. Hector-san is starting to get the hang of mid-air." She smiled. "He can almost hit me, sometimes. I have another student who might be up to learning mid-air in a few months." Akane was looking wistful, and Ranko had a flash of inspiration. "Why don't you come visit me after you graduate in March? You can teach a few classes with me, and we can show them what Anything Goes really looks like." She moved into her final kata.

Akane's face lit up like a little girl's. "Oh, that would be…" Her face suddenly fell. "I'd love to, but I'm not sure we can afford the airfare, Sis."

Ranko finished her kata, standing on one leg with her palms pressed together. She held the pose a moment, then relaxed. "It's two months from now. I'm sure Oneechan can swing something by then. She's positively manic when it comes to finding a deal."

Akane face relaxed into a smile. "I hope so. I'd _love_ to come."

Genma cleared his throat. "Are you two ready to begin?"

Both girls straightened up and bowed to him. "Hai, Sensei."

Ranko eyed her father. "All-out?"

He shook his head. "No. I want us to work with you one-on-one first to make sure you're still up to it. I'm not going to take a chance on an injury, especially to your hands."

Akane bit her lip at that, but Ranko merely smiled confidently. "Oh, really? OK, Dad, let's go." Genma grinned, and they began.

* * *

><p>"That's enough," said Genma. "We're done."<p>

Ranko's face flushed with embarrassment, and she was glad her father couldn't see it, what with her being sprawled face down on the floor. She was exhausted, and every muscle in her body ached fiercely. She'd hoped her work with her students would have kept her in better shape, but her father and Akane were at a completely different level, the pinnacle of the Art, one she could no longer reach.

She felt her father grasp her arms gently to help her to her feet, and she schooled her features to show the proper respect to her _sensei_, lifting her eyes to meet his. He held her at arm's length for a moment, then let go, watching her carefully; she had the feeling she wasn't fooling him at all.

"That wasn't entirely awful. Well done."

Her mood lightened; her father would never sugar-coat an evaluation to spare feelings, not even hers. _No regrets_, she told herself, as she smiled and replied "High praise. Maybe in a couple of days I'll be back to mediocre." Her father nodded thoughtfully, then turned and left.

The moment he was out the door she sank down to the mat again, collapsing gracelessly into a semi-seated heap. Akane came to sit beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. "Are you OK, Sis?"

"Yes… I just… I hate to disappoint him."

Akane squeezed her gently, and Ranko sighed and laid her head on Akane's shoulder. "You could never disappoint him, Sis. He's _proud_ of you. You know that, don't you?"

"But I'm so much worse than I used to be — even worse than when I left for New York."

Akane smiled. "Yes, he's disappointed about that, but…"

"That's what I…"

"But," Akane continued, interrupting, "he's not disappointed in _you_. Of course he wishes you'd followed in his footsteps. Of course he wishes you were still the best martial artist in Japan. But Sis, he's very proud of you, because of what you've accomplished in your life. When he heard that Ira Zoll had taken a personal interest in you, he was ready to burst. Trust me." Akane grinned. "Well, once we looked up who Ira Zoll is, of course."

Ranko laughed, and Akane joined her. The last of her bad mood evaporated.

Still grinning, Akane said, "Come on, Sis, let's get you in the bath so you can soak a bit." Akane helped her to her feet, keeping an arm around her, and Ranko leaned on her for support.

"Do you have any plans today?"

Ranko smiled. "Not really. After marching all over Tokyo yesterday Tish doesn't feel like running off anywhere, and after practice this morning I'm feeling the same way." Akane giggled. "I can't afford to laze around too much, though. There are still more wedding errands, friends to catch up with, and Tish wanted to try tracking down her friends. Oh, and there's violin practice, of course."

Akane nodded. "Any friends in particular?"

Ranko smiled. "I was hoping we could get a couple of days and head down to Kyoto to visit Ucchan. I haven't seen her in a long time."

Akane frowned. "I'd love to see her too, but you're only here for another week and a half. Will we have time?"

Ranko shrugged, then winced and rolled her shoulders, trying to work the kinks out. "I know it'll be difficult, but you know how hard it is for Ucchan to leave her business. If we don't go see her…"

"Yeah," sighed Akane. "I know. Well, we'll just have to squeeze it in with everything else." She grinned. "You weren't planning on sleeping while you were here, were you?"

They both laughed as they entered the bath.

* * *

><p>"OK," said Nabiki. "Tell me how you lost touch with them. It could be important." She leaned back in her desk chair. Ranko and Akane watched from the floor as Tish gathered her thoughts, seated on Nabiki's bed. She seemed almost like she wasn't going to answer, but finally spoke, her fingers toying with the comforter all the while.<p>

"Well… part of it was my fault." At Nabiki's raised eyebrow, she continued, "I wrote to all three of them quite a bit right after we moved back to the States." She pressed her lips together and looked away for a moment. "Naoki's mother wasn't much happier about our relationship than mine was. Those letters came back 'return to sender' from the beginning, and eventually I gave up."

She sighed. "I tried to keep up with Kinu and Shigeru, but when we couldn't find Mom, and Dad was still in the Air Force, I had to help run the household and take care of Thomas, on top of being a high school student. I had to get him to school in the morning, pick him up afterwards, and take care of him until Dad got off duty. If Dad had late hours — he's a psychiatrist and a doctor, after all — I had to make dinner. Then I had to do all my schoolwork, and sometimes help Thomas with his. Plus the Air Force moved us around the country a couple of times."

She hung her head. "At the same time, I was having trouble adjusting socially to being back in the US, and I got a bit depressed. So after a few months I just didn't have the energy to write and tell Kinu and Shigeru about what I was going through, and I didn't want to be reminded of the life I had with them. I look back now and I realize it was incredibly stupid, but I went months between letters, then finally, I stopped.

"Once Dad was in private practice, and Thomas was a little older, I tried writing again, but at that point, they both came back as 'addressee unknown.' Apparently they'd both moved again, and the Post Office wouldn't forward the mail after such a long time."

She shook her head. "I feel like I let them down, and I'm embarrassed, but I want to see them all again. I want to get back in touch. We were so close when I lived here…" She grew silent, her eyes suspiciously shiny.

"Well," said Nabiki, somewhat uncomfortable, "Let's start with the names and where they used to live. You said you went to Hakone-ga-saki elementary, near the air base, right?"

"Yes. It wasn't the closest school to the base, but it was the closest one that would take me."

"And your friends' full names?"

"Ogawa Naoki, Tajima Kinu, and Inoue Shigeru."

Nabiki sighed. "Unfortunately, those are all really common family names. You say the Tajima family moved?"

"Yes, to Osaka." Akane and Ranko turned to look at each other.

"And the other two were still in the area when you last heard from them?" Tish nodded. "Do you think your friends would have gone to college, or at least taken the entrance exams?"

Tish nodded vigorously. "Yes, they were all planning to as far as I know."

Nabiki steepled her fingers together in front of her mouth and thought for a while. "The family names are common, but if they went to college, or they're part of some kind of online community or have a web page or something, I might be able to find them on the Internet. I'll look around some time today.

"Once I've done that, I think you're going to have to do some legwork. As in, go out to the air base and look around. If there's anyone you still know — shopkeepers, neighbors, whoever — see what they know. Ask at their old address to see if the current residents know anything. They might have some idea of the general area the families moved to."

Tish nodded, though she looked a bit apprehensive. "And the Tajimas?"

Ranko looked at Akane again, who nodded. "Well… Akane and I have a friend in Kyoto whom we were planning to go visit. We were only going to stay overnight, but we could take a couple of hours to visit their neighborhood in Osaka, and ask around." Tish looked thoughtful.

Nabiki leaned forward. "Of course, you could always hire a detective agency…"

Tish winced. "That seems a little… extreme. I don't want them to think I'm stalking them."

Nabiki nodded. "Fair enough. OK, I think that's it. I'll let you know if I find anything."

* * *

><p>A loud rumbling noise woke Ranko from the semi-drowsy stupor she'd fallen into; she was still a little jet-lagged. She looked past the empty seats on the other side of the train and out the window.<p>

They were paralleling an airfield, and a rather large, gray, propeller-driven plane was coming in for a landing just a hundred meters away, its four engines droning loudly. Ranko watched with interest as it touched down, its tires screeching, then took in the rest of the busy air base as their train followed the curve of the perimeter fence. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Akane and Tish were watching as well, the latter with a somewhat faraway look.

They were on their way to Tish's old neighborhood, to see if they could track down any information on her friends. Nabiki had done several hours' worth of research on the Internet, but hadn't been able to come up with any leads. The names were just too common. She needed some "data from the field," as she put it, to narrow things down.

She turned to Tish. "I was kind of expecting jets or something."

Tish snapped out of her daydreaming and shook her head. "Yokota is home base for the 374th Airlift Wing. They fly support and transport."

A few moments later the base was lost to view as the train crossed a canal and pulled into a station.

"Here we are," announced Tish, with an air of long familiarity; the three of them got up and collected their belongings. Ranko slung her bag over her shoulder, and they stepped off onto the platform of Hakone-ga-saki station. It was a center platform, and they started climbing the stairs to the overpass that would take them to the street. Below, the train hummed a rising pitch and clattered as it pulled out.

Ranko watched Tish carefully as they passed through the station and descended the stairs. There was no hesitation on her roommate's part, no searching around for signs or directions. Tish knew exactly where she was going. Though she looked around, her eyes seemed a bit unfocused, and Ranko had the feeling she was seeing things as they had been years ago.

Ranko looked around as they walked; the area seemed typical of the far Tokyo suburbs. Areas of green were interspersed with industrial buildings and single-family homes, all jumbled together as if someone had dropped a deck of cards. The only thing that was out of place was the air base; it was not visible from the ground, but the sounds were unmistakable. It was a cold, clear day; the sky was blue with wispy, high clouds. Ranko was glad for her warm coat and the white knit beret (with a pom-pom) perched on her head.

Ranko was so busy looking around that she nearly walked into Tish's back; the tall girl had stopped and was staring down the road. Ranko came out from behind her and saw a tear inch its way down her cheeks. She reached out and gently touched her friend's arm, as Akane looked on, concerned.

"Hey… what is it?"

Tish didn't answer for a few moments, then whispered, "I'm scared."

Ranko didn't say anything, but ran her hand up and down in what she hoped would be a comforting gesture. She waited patiently for the rest.

After a few seconds, Tish continued, "It's been so long. Some bad things happened to me here, but I have lots of happy memories too. I felt at home here. But I've changed, and the area's probably changed, and my friends have probably changed." She bit her lip. "I'm scared that coming back here is going to ruin my happy memories. I'm sorry; I didn't feel this way until I got off the train and started recognizing things."

Ranko and Akane looked at each other. It was true; there was a reason for the saying "you can't go home again."

Akane came up on Tish's other side. "Please don't apologize, Tish-san. We don't have to do this, you know. We can go back." They'd spent an hour and three transfers to get here, but that wasn't important in the grand scheme of things.

Tish didn't say anything, and they knew she was seriously considering just turning around and getting on the next train home. She bit her lip as she looked off into the middle distance.

After a minute or so of this, she closed her eyes and sighed. "No. No, I have to apologize to them for letting things go so long. Even if things don't go well, it's better than… nothing. And it's not like we're going to run into them today." She turned to smile at Ranko and Akane. "Thanks." By unspoken mutual agreement, the three of them continued on.

It was a long walk; things were a little more spread out here. Ranko started to warm up, and took her beret off to put in her coat pocket.

Tish paused at a fence, and the other two stopped beside her. Ranko looked in at what was obviously an elementary school. It being winter break, the school was deserted.

She looked up at Tish. "Is this it?"

Tish nodded, her eyes wandering slowly over the grounds. A small smile appeared on her face. "It looks exactly the same. Well, a little smaller than I remember." She giggled, and Ranko relaxed a little.

Akane smiled. "Things always seem smaller after you grow up."

Ranko grumbled, "For some of us, anyway," and Tish and Akane laughed.

Tish pointed. "That was my first year classroom. I met Kinu in kindergarten, but the rest there." She sighed. "Everything was so innocent and friendly then." She looked around a bit more, then started off again.

A short walk further on there was another fence, and another school. It was obviously a middle school, and Tish's expression was considerably darker.

Tish didn't say anything, and they didn't linger long. Based on what she knew of Tish's history, Ranko guessed the place didn't stir up enough happy memories to warrant it.

After that, they walked for about ten minutes, past homes, fields, and businesses. Tish was looking here and there, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning. There wasn't much conversation. The buildings grew more dense, as they entered the built-up part of the town.

Finally she stopped. "I guess the first thing to do is to go to Shigeru's old house, and see if they know where the family moved." Ranko and Akane nodded, and they set off down a side street. Ranko thought it looked a lot like Nerima: apartments, walk-ups, and some nicer houses, the occasional business. Then again, most middle-class side streets in the Tokyo area looked the same.

Tish stopped in front of the door of a modest single-family home. She looked at the door chime, but didn't make any move to push the button. Faint voices could be heard inside, but Ranko couldn't make out what they were saying.

Tish slowly started to lift her finger, then paused. She seemed frozen.

Akane ventured, "It's a family of strangers, Tish-san. We'll just be asking them some polite questions."

Tish nodded, and reached towards the button, when the voices inside grew louder and more heated. She paused again.

Ranko shifted uneasily. "Maybe we should go get a snack and come back in a half hour or so? They don't sound like they're in the mood for company right now."

Tish lowered her arm, and they were about to turn and walk off, when a voice came from the other side of the door. "I'm going, OK? I'm going! Why does everything have to be right away around here?" The door flew open to reveal a girl about their own age, a little shorter than Akane. She was wearing a warm, fashionable coat and a white knit beret with a pom-pom — very much like the one Ranko was glad was now hidden in her pocket — and already had her shoes on. She didn't notice the three of them right away; she was fiddling with something in her handbag. As she did so, she grumbled "This is what I get for coming home for the holidays." Ranko and Akane blushed for eavesdropping, even though it was inadvertent.

The girl looked up, and her eyes and Tish's met at the same moment. Their jaws both gaped, and their eyes went wide in shock. The two of them stared at each other, seemingly having turned to stone. Tish looked a little faint, and Ranko made ready to catch her if she made good on that, wondering all the while what was going on.

Finally, Tish whispered, "Shigeru?"

* * *

><p>"Would any of you like some more coffee?"<p>

Akane glanced to the side, where Ranko had a comforting arm around Tish — as much as she could, anyway. Tish was currently staring down into her coffee cup, her face clouded. Neither was paying much attention to her coffee.

Akane turned back to the waitress. "No thank you, we're good for now." The girl, who looked about high school age, nodded and moved off to take care of another booth. The place was pretty busy, with the cold weather and all.

Akane looked once more out the plate glass window at the front of the coffee shop, watching the people go by on the main shopping street. She had a little trouble seeing from their secluded table in the back, but saw all she needed to: people passed by, but no one was coming in. She looked back to her sister and her roommate, and again thought back over the recent encounter, trying to puzzle out what was going on.

After the shock of mutual recognition had passed, Tish and her childhood friend had just stared at each other for a moment. Akane had watched as a series of emotions had passed over Shigeru's face, too quickly for her to sort out, settling finally on resignation.

That was followed by some equally awkward small talk, as Shigeru asked what Tish was doing in Tokyo, and Tish had related her circumstances. She was about to get into more detail when a voice called from inside the house: "Shigeru, are you still here? Is there someone at the door?"

Shigeru had called back, "No Mom, it's just some people passing by. I'm going, OK?" and pulled the door closed.

She eyed Tish carefully, and folded her arms. "I don't want my mother to meet you, and I have to run this errand right now or she'll give me a hard time. You know the coffee shop next to the travel agent, right? I'll meet you there." And without another word, she'd run off and left them. That had been forty-five minutes ago.

The indifferent manner of Shigeru's greeting, and her desire to hide Tish from her mother, had been nothing like what you'd expect from a close friend you hadn't seen in years, and Tish had been quiet and withdrawn the entire time since.

Suddenly they all became aware of someone standing in front of their table, and looked up; it was Shigeru. With the noise from all the people in the place, they must have missed her entrance.

She regarded Tish in a cool manner. "Mind if I sit down?" They all shook their heads, and she slid into the booth. Ranko slid away a little from Tish and closer to Akane.

They were all anxious to hear what Shigeru had to say, but the waitress, all attention, noticed the new member of the party and swooped in to ask if she wanted anything. "Milk tea, please," Shigeru responded, and the interruption was over.

Shigeru turned her attention back to Tish. "So, what are you doing way out here? Sightseeing?"

Tish looked tentative and uncertain, not at all like the confident young woman Akane knew. "I… I came looking for you, Shigeru. You and my other friends. I wanted to see you again."

Shigeru frowned. "Oh, _now_ you want to see us?" Tish's face fell, and Akane felt hers flush.

Ranko beat her to it. "Umm, I don't think…"

Shigeru interrupted, "Who are your friends?" with just a hint of emphasis on the last word.

Tish swallowed, and stumbled through her answer. "Umm, umm, this is my roommate… from, from school, Saotome Ranko, and her, uh, f-friend, Tendou Akane."

Shigeru nodded to Ranko and Akane politely enough, then continued, "So you're going to school in Japan? Just how long have you been here?"

Tish opened her mouth, but nothing came out; her eyes glistened. Ranko answered on her friend's behalf. "Inoue-san, Tish and I are going to school in New York. She came home with me for the holidays. This is her first time in Japan since she left."

"Oh." Shigeru had the good grace to blush brightly, and looked away. Her shoulders drooped slightly, and she seemed to deflate with a deep sigh. "I'm… sorry." She bit her lip, and looked extremely uncomfortable.

Ranko and Akane exchanged a glance, wondering what to do next. This was nothing like the joyful reunion they had expected. Clearly Shigeru was feeling resentful, but there wasn't really anything they could do but wait for her to broach the reason for it.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the arrival of Shigeru's milk tea, which sat untouched. Ranko looked between Tish and Shigeru, and offered, "Would it help if Akane and I went somewhere else…" Ranko trailed off when she saw the panic in Tish's eyes.

Shigeru looked up, and shook her head; she finally made eye contact with Tish. They just looked at each other for a while. Shigeru's expression was hard to read, but Tish's was easy.

Tish finally asked, distressed, "Shigeru, what's wrong? I… I know I was a bad friend, I know it's my fault we lost touch. I'm so sorry… but I don't understand… I wanted so much to see you…" Tears ran slowly down her cheeks.

Shigeru's face crumpled. "It would be so much easier if I could hate you… my mother sure does." The other three girls gasped slightly, and Shigeru's eyes were bright.

Tish shook her head. "Why… why…"

Shigeru shook her head violently and held up her hand to cut Tish off. They sat there for a few minutes; Ranko snuck her hand under the table and grabbed Tish's, giving it a comforting squeeze. The waitress didn't disturb them; she must have noticed that something was going on.

Finally, Shigeru gave a long sigh, and began, "We were so close, weren't we? You, me, and Kinu. Ogawa-kun, too."

Tish nodded. "Yes. Shigeru, I'm so sorry…"

Shigeru waved her hand to forestall the apology. "We became your friends when we were all little, and we stuck by you." She looked up at Tish, and there wasn't anger in her eyes, just a deep sadness. "When some of the other kids started picking on you for being different, we stuck by you. We all stuck by each other."

Tish nodded, her eyes bright. _The nail that sticks up gets hammered down_, and she had stuck way up.

"Then we were in middle school, and Kinu had to move. Then you had to leave." She stopped talking and looked down again, and the rest of them were not quite sure what she was getting at.

Finally she looked up again. "You probably don't get it, because they were always bullying you. You were so obviously different." She closed her eyes.

Tish spoke tentatively, "Shigeru?"

Shigeru's eyes opened, bright with tears. "Tish, we were your friends, we defended you. We were 'different,' too. And after you left…"

Tish gasped and her hands went to her mouth. Akane and Ranko both stiffened, and their hands found each other.

Shigeru nodded. "You weren't around any more, but Ogawa-kun and I were." Tears started leaking from her eyes. "His grades started to suffer, and his parents moved him to a different school. They were so upset with how things turned out they wouldn't even let him talk to me any more." She closed her eyes. "Then it was just me.

"I begged my parents to switch me to another school, but they couldn't afford it. I had a couple of friends from outside our circle, but with all the hazing they just drifted away… and just as things got really bad, your letters stopped."

Tish was crying too. "Shigeru… you never said anything in your letters…"

"I knew you were having a hard time, with your mother and moving and all. I didn't want to burden you. And then, to feel like you were ditching me… all of us… like you didn't need us any more… like you forgot about us…"

Tish whispered hoarsely, "I'm so sorry… I never realized…"

"Kinu defended you. I was angry with her, and we stopped talking. Then I lost touch with her, too." She sighed. "After a few years, the bullies found someone else to focus on, and things got a bit better, though my social life never recovered until I went to high school. I grew up, too, and got over my self-pity, but I guess I never got over the hurt enough to try to get back in touch with you, or Kinu." She frowned. "I guess we were both stupid." There wasn't any humor in her voice.

She leaned back in her seat and regarded Tish across the table. "You and Kinu were my best friends, Tish; that's why it hurt so much. Part of me wants to forgive you, but I don't know if I can."

Tish nodded through the tears that were still flowing. "I understand."

Shigeru took one sip of her milk tea, then started to rummage in her purse; she threw some coins on the table, then stood slowly. "I need to get back. If my mother knew I was talking to you… But I thought I at least owed you an explanation."

Tish looked up at her. "Can you give me an e-mail address? Your cell?"

Shigeru stood for a long time, then just shook her head. "Goodbye, Tish." She started to walk away.

Tish called after her. "Shigeru! Can I give you mine?"

Shigeru paused for a second. She didn't turn around, and Akane had the feeling she was crying again. Once more, she started slowly for the door, as if each step was an effort.

Ranko looked at Tish, whose face was crumpled up like a piece of paper; she was trying mightily not to start sobbing out loud. Ranko called after Shigeru, "Inoue-san, Tish and I are at the Juilliard school. Juilliard! You can reach her there." People stopped their conversations at the noise, and stared at her. She blushed, but continued watching Shigeru.

Shigeru made no acknowledgement before she walked out the door. Once it closed behind her, she ran.

* * *

><p>More than anything, Tish had wanted not to break down on the way home.<p>

She succeeded through all three transfers and the walk from Fuurinkan station, but as soon as they came through the gate of the Tendou home and she was no longer out in public, she came unraveled and started sobbing.

Ranko and Akane looked at each other; they'd expected this. Each taking an arm, they led her to the front door.

They opened it and found Kasumi and Ryouga already standing there, drawn by the noise they'd heard from outside. Ryouga had come earlier hoping to spend time with his fiancée that evening; he looked on bewildered. Nodoka came bustling up to the entryway as well. She and Kasumi exchanged a worried glance.

Ranko felt the family's eyes on her, and Tish was in no shape for an explanation. "Tish found one of her old friends. Things… didn't go well." Tish's sobs amplified, and Kasumi, Akane, and Nodoka led her gently down the hall.

Ryouga blinked, uncomprehending. "She's taking this awfully hard…"

Ranko suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and settled for a sigh. After all, Ryouga didn't know about what had happened with Tish's mother, and it wasn't really her place to share that information. "She has her reasons." Ranko silently resolved never to turn her back on Tish, no matter what.

Ryouga nodded, not really understanding, but sympathetic nonetheless. "I was kinda hoping…"

Ranko threw her arms around him, and they just held each other for a moment. "I was too, but Tish really needs me tonight." She backed off a little, still in his arms. "We'll be together for a couple of days while we go visit Ucchan, OK? And when we get back from Kyoto, we'll have Christmas Eve, too." She stretched up and kissed him.

Ryouga nodded. "Yeah. I feel a little jealous of you spending time with anyone else; you're gonna have to go back so soon. But…" He trailed off, looking down the hall.

Ranko hugged him again. "Thank you. I love you. So much…"

Ryouga didn't answer; he just leaned down and kissed her. They stayed that way for a short while. Then Ranko released him, squeezed his hand, and hurried after the others. Ryouga shook his head, and wandered off to find the male members of the family. Even though he could turn into a woman, and understood female emotions a bit better than most guys, he was pretty sure he couldn't help with this.

Ranko found Tish sitting in the family room, surrounded by the women of the family, even Nabiki. Her roommate was still crying and hiccuping, but seemed a little more in control of herself. Ranko slid in next to her and put an arm around her.

"I'll be OK," Tish whispered. "It's just so hard."

Ranko tightened her arm around her friend, though with their difference in height, she felt like a little girl hugging her Mommy.

Nodoka was holding Tish's hand on the other side, and squeezed a little harder. "I know, dear." Tish turned to look at Nodoka, and basked in the warmth and acceptance she found in the older woman's eyes. Nodoka would never replace Tish's own mother, but having a mother figure radiating such care soothed the hurt. Involuntarily, a question formed in her eyes, and Nodoka murmured the answer right away. "Never." She squeezed Tish's hand again. "Never, ever."

Tish looked around at the rest of the women, who all nodded. Tish smiled briefly, then laid her head on Nodoka's shoulder, and cried some more.

* * *

><p>"Peter! Peter, over here!"<p>

Peter Vasilev stopped and looked around the Juilliard cafeteria, trying not to spill his full bowl of minestrone all over the tray it sat on. The cafeteria was unusually crowded today due to the foul weather.

His eyes picked out a familiar face in the crowd, her blonde hair done up in a ponytail as usual; she was gesturing to an empty spot across from her.

He maneuvered his way through the mob, cursing under his breath as his soup slopped over a bit. He carefully put the tray down and slid into the seat opposite Sarah Edelman.

She smiled at him. "How are you, Peter? It's been quite a while."

Peter smiled. "It's been a busy semester. And you?"

Sarah laughed. "The same. I've seen you at the faculty meetings, but this is the first chance I've had in a long time to just chat." She tilted her head. "I thought you swore you were never going to eat here again?" she teased.

Peter shuddered slightly. Some fish tacos from the cafeteria had laid him out with food poisoning for four days last year, and he hadn't wanted to repeat the experience. "I know. I didn't have time to make lunch this morning — I overslept because the power went out during the night. And I really don't want to go out in this…" He waved his hands at the windows and the heavy snow that was falling outside. Traffic had been paralyzed this morning, and Peter was glad he'd taken the subway.

He gestured at the soup and bread on his tray. "I figure anything that's been boiled this much is probably safe." They both laughed, and began eating, pausing for small talk about the school and their work.

As she nibbled on the last bits of her Chinese chicken salad, Sarah paused. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you… you have a student named Ranko Saotome, don't you?"

Peter paused and looked up, somewhat uncertain. "Yes… why?"

Sarah shook her head. "Nothing important. She practices martial arts in our studio every morning, but she hasn't been there for a few days. I was just wondering if she'd gone back home to Japan for the holidays."

Peter nodded. "Yes, she left a few days ago. She'll be back after New Year's." He grinned. "So, what do you think of her?" He took another bite of his bread.

Sarah laughed. "She's quite spectacular, isn't she? I have to admit my students and I have been arriving just a little bit earlier than normal to watch, though please don't tell her that. She seems a little shy."

Peter nodded. "I won't." He raised his bread to his mouth, then paused. "So, what do you think of her martial arts? As a dancer? I've always thought they reminded me of dance."

Sarah shook her head. "Oh, it's fascinating to watch, without a doubt, and beautiful in its own way, but it's nothing like dance." She took a sip of hot tea.

Peter blinked. "In what way?" He took another bite of bread.

Sarah waved her hands. "I know they call it 'martial _arts_,' but it's a different kind of artistry. I mean, it _is_ 'martial' after all. It's beautiful, but more like the beauty of nature than the beauty of art; sort of the way a powerful predator is."

She paused a moment, gathering her thoughts. "The difference between natural beauty and art is that the artist is trying to say something _human_ to the audience. Martial arts — at least the kind I saw her doing — doesn't really try to say anything. It doesn't have heart, it doesn't show emotion, it doesn't tell a story the way dance does. Every movement is geared towards fighting; there's no energy left over to connect with an audience and…" she trailed off, and peered at her lunch companion.

"Peter? Do you think you could close your mouth? It's a little gross."

* * *

><p>End Chapter 8<p>

Monday, January 11, 2010

**Copyright Notice **

The characters and stories of Ranma ½ are Copyright © Rumiko Takahashi, and are used here without permission or license.

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.

This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.

This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Ranma ½ characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Ranma ½ as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

All original characters and story elements expressed herein are Copyright © 2002-2010 by the author.


	9. Author's Note (groveling included!)

I'm still working on it!

Now that that's out of the way, the details. My usual working style is to finish a story before posting any of it. For "Notes from Juilliard" I decided to try posting chapter by chapter. That was a big mistake.

I still plan to finish the story and I have it plotted out. Unfortunately, real life (my job and other personal commitments) and writer's block stalled me for a few years. I am writing again (both this story and another in a different fandom). I've decided not to post any further chapters of "Notes from Juilliard" until it's _finished_, and I may revise some of the existing chapters.

I'm very sorry to make everyone wait so long, but I assure you I will finish this story. I am guessing it may take roughly another year or two. At that point I'll post the whole thing.

Again, my apologies, and thank you for your patience in putting up with the ridiculous delay.

Update: So, I finished the other story, and am about to post it. It took a lot of my (scarce) writing time, but now A) I can focus on "Notes from Juilliard," and B) I'm back in the writing saddle again.

While you're waiting, I hope you enjoy my new story, "Fictitious Persons," even though it's not a Ranma fanfic (it's a fanfic for "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman"). It's complete, but it's about 147,000 words in 53 chapters, so it will take a while to get it all uploaded. I will have the first chapter up soon.

I revised the guesstimate for NfJ to be more realistic. I have it plotted out but there is a lot of writing remaining.


End file.
